


Kissing at Arm's Length

by SirenAlpha



Series: Marriage [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Set in the future, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenAlpha/pseuds/SirenAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England stared at the engagement ring Russia had placed on her finger and wondered if companionship was the only thing that it promised her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ring

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted to ffnet and I decided that since I'm rewriting and editing the original story in preparation for a sequel I should share the rewritten story here. I'll add each rewritten and edited chapter as I finish it. I probably won't update regularly but it should hopefully be frequent. 
> 
> This is supposed to be set about 200 years in the future in canon verse. I'm not going to focus on much more than the changes to global politics when it comes to that future. Also, I've genderbended a lot of other nations aside from England so that it doesn't stick out so much.

It had been decades since the last serious war. All imperialism and empires were mere memories and pages in history books. America started the fad of sorts. The economic disputes between America and China had disappeared. After a transition to a more democratic government in the eastern nation, the countries had grown close in every way. They created an alliance closer than the special relationship America had with England and the UK. This, for the personifications, was marriage. America had been the one to propose. Now, citizens were expecting their countries to pair off. They participated in votes or opinion polls to influence the creation of new alliances.

The pairings the polls predicted all matched the current state of relationships between personifications. Canada married Australia as Spain married the southern personification of Italy. Her much more lighthearted sister married Germany. Liechtenstein and Luxembourg married with Switzerland’s blessing. Most of the countries had married, and England had attended near every wedding. Still, she lived alone, and her citizen’s never chose a clear leader in the public opinion polls.

She had finished off the last of her evening tea and ready to move onto the opinion section of the news when she heard a knock on her door. Half annoyed but still mostly curious, she went to the front door and spied Russia through the window. He seemed to have forgotten that he usually smiled, giving him an odd air of seriousness.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted him politely once she had the door open. “What brings you here?”

She had received the call notifying her that he’d be in town, but she distinctly remembered that there hadn’t been any sort of meeting planned with her.

“I have a matter of personal business to discuss with you. May I come in? I won’t take very long,” he explained.

She frowned, but nonetheless stepped aside. “Yes, come in.”

She watched him carefully as she guided him into the living room. He doesn’t come to her for personal business; she’d spent years orchestrating that pattern. She went to him on personal business, normally because another nation wanted to tell him off but required more finesse than America.

 “Take any seat you’d like, would you like anything to eat or drink?” she asked, maintaining her guise.

“No, that’s fine. I would like it if you would just sit and talk with me,” he answered, taking a seat on her couch and keeping his legs in close.

“Very well,” she said and took the armchair across from the couch.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said smoothly.

“Your proposition is?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I would very much like to marry you,” Russia answered.

England couldn’t help it, and burst out chortling. “You’re joking,” she said, shaking her head at the absurdity.

“I am absolutely serious. With each passing day, my sister gets closer to marrying me, and I do not wish for that to happen,” he answered, his tone grave.

“Why though? Why me of all nations?” she asked, rolling her eyes and finding it difficult to take his proposal seriously.

“Out of those still available, you fear me least,” he said, clasping his hands together.

“That’s it? You want to base a relationship, a marriage, off the fact that we don’t fear each other,”

“I think it’s an important base,” he said, but sighed when she motioned for him to continue. “I think we could work well together. We have at times in the past.”

“In a professional sense, yes, that’s true,” she said, considering the proposal with a bit more weight. “We don’t really have anything you could call relationship outside of our duties.”

“I think we could have one,”

“One what?”

“A relationship; one that isn’t just professional,”

“And you think the best way to try and create one is to get married?”

He looked away for a moment, clenching his jaw. “No, it’s not the best way, but our professional relationship, as you would call it, hasn’t strictly stayed within neat boundaries the whole time. I ask for marriage because there needs to be some immediacy.”

England actually spent most of her time forgetting the times her relationship with Russia had slid into a grey area. Some of it had to do with England still not knowing how she felt about it and more of it had to do with not wanting to deal with America if she found out. “Those instances were enough for you to decide to propose to me?” she asked. 

He leaned back against the couch. “I’m not asking for everything immediately. I’m only asking to be married and live together. You can even put conditions on it if you wish. I think that if we were to live together it would turn out alright. We could even be happy, eventually.”

England opened her mouth to respond but awkwardly closed it again when she couldn’t find any words. It was the most she’d ever heard from Russia of his opinions of their relationship. “And what of our relationship? Do you expect anything out of that, romantically speaking?”

“If it were to happen, I don’t think I would object,” he said, stunning her to silence.

He had considered the possibility of falling in love with her, and she didn’t know what to think. She ran a hand over her forehead. She had as few options as he did for marriage, and many a hint had been passed her way that she should consider marrying given the political climate. She tried to imagine actually living with Russia, and she couldn’t really say that it would be terrible. They’d been in close quarters before though others had been involved at those times. He hadn’t been the worst of them through the sheer fact that he could be quiet. On top of that, he had given her the ability to place conditions on the marriage.

She spoke cautiously, “I accept your proposal, and I want our bosses to be involved in setting the conditions. We can set our rules and ensure that both parties find them fair.”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Good, I can set up the meeting then.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, not unless you have any other questions,”

“Not at the moment, but I’ll call you if I think of anything. I have to sort things out first,” she said, rising from her seat. He stood, following her back to the front door. She turned back to him before they reached it. “There’s no going back from this, is there?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re having second thoughts already?”

“No, it’s just sinking in,” she said, moving towards the door again. As she pulled the door back she realized she didn’t know how to address now that he was her fiancé. “Thanks for stopping by, I guess.”

He passed her with his usual nod of farewell, but turned round to face her on the door step. He half raised his head, and she couldn’t tell if he wanted a hand shake or was considering something else. “We’ll sort that out later,” she blurted, motioning for him to stay where he was, and quickly added a farewell just to shut the door.

She walked slowly back to her empty tea cup to rinse it out, rubbing her face and trying to calm her thoughts. After setting the cup aside she wandered her way back to reading the opinion section of the news. She noticed the bar graph immediately, eyes drawn to the title proclaiming to reveal a new preference among citizens on who she should partner with. The bar labeled ‘Russia’ had taken a clear lead over the competition. She flushed, considering how this new revelation might have influenced her decision earlier. She set aside the news to scrounge up dinner.

She ate distractedly, thoughts of living with Russia chasing themselves around her head. She found herself inundated with questions and pulling out her phone to call him. She almost tapped the button to call his number, but set aside her phone instead. “I’m getting married,” she whispered to herself, rubbing her temples. “To Russia.”

She gave up on eating after that, clearing her place before heading upstairs. She made a mental list of who she would need to give the announcement to in the morning. She also began making a list of what conditions she wanted to place on the marriage. She went to bed early just to stop thinking about it.  

* * *

 

She walked down the hallway beside her boss at a clipped pace. Days ago, they had agreed to meet Russia and his boss at the Russian embassy. Now, they were mere minutes from sorting out a marriage. She took a deep breath before entering the room. She exchanged polite pleasantries with Russia and his boss, and they all took seats at the table. She avoided meeting Russia’s gaze for the duration, keeping focused on clearly defining her conditions.

They laid out a schedule for where they would live; from the spring to fall equinox in Moscow and the rest of the year in London. They set our rules for behavior; no abuse of any sort, complete fidelity, and attempting to solve problems with words first. Their bosses proposed that they also should sleep in the same bed. England shared a wary look with Russia, but they didn’t object to their bosses’ proposition. As soon as they’d finished, England signed the document after Russia.

The bosses walked out of the room ahead of the nations. “England,” Russia said as she was leaving the room.

“Yes?” she asked, turning back to him.

“I know I already proposed, but,” he began and dropped down to one knee before her.

England’s breath caught in her throat and she could feel her cheeks flushing. He continued as he pulled out a small black box. “I thought you might like this.”

He had stunned her speechless again, and he opened the box to reveal a gold engagement ring with a diamond set in the center and three emeralds flanking each side. “It’s beautiful,” she managed to whisper as he pulled it out of the box.

“Here,” he said, taking her left hand with a smile. He slid it onto her fourth finger. “Good, it fits. I guessed on the size.”

“Thank you,” she said as she ran her thumb over it.

“You are welcome. I’ll walk you out.”  

* * *

 

That night, England sat on her couch watching as the news reported on the reaction to the new alliance between her and Russia. It seemed positive overall, and she felt pleased. She kept running her fingers over her new ring, twisting it around her finger to get used to it. It brought new weight to what would happen as Russia would pair it with her wedding ring soon enough.


	2. The Wedding

England could feel her heart thudding in her chest as she stood beside Russia at the altar. Despite the number of well-known and high level officials attending, they held the ceremony in a nondescript church for a false sense of privacy. England appreciated even as her throat felt tight, hair too heavily piled on top of her head, and her dress stiff. She managed to make it through all of the words without stumbling and felt relieved when the priest finished.

She turned to Russia to leave and caught his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and cupped her face. She held her breath as he pressed his lips against hers for barely a moment. He pulled away and took one of her hands in his. He led them outside to the limousine, and she kept her head down to avoid having to see any of their guests.

She sighed as soon as the car’s door had closed behind her. “You alright?” Russia asked as the driver began to pull away.

“I’m fine,” she responded, running her fingers over her hair to check that every strand was still in place.

“Now, we only have to survive the reception,” he said as he smoothed down his tie and began to awkwardly smile.

She rolled her eyes. Nobody would go up to him to badger him about who he had decided to marry.

The limousine stopped far too soon for her liking. “Here we are,” the driver announced.

“Let’s get this over with,” England said as she climbed out. Russia came around to her side and offered her his arm. She hooked her arm over his and they walked in together as their guests trickled in.

“Judging by the size of the crowd, we only have a few minutes before the first dance,” she told him as they walked towards the dance floor.

“Less than that,” Russia said as a large group entered and the DJ faded out the song he had been playing. “Green Sleeves” began to play, and the newly wedded couple moved into position to dance. It wasn’t the most suiting song for a first dance, but England loved the melody. Russia led her through simple steps, and she followed along easily. She didn’t bother looking up to Russia’s face and unintentionally caught sight of a few faces within the crowd. When the song ended, she sighed and dropped Russia’s hand almost immediately.

She turned around to find America standing behind her. “Come on,” America said, taking hold of one of her arms and dragging her off the dance floor.

“Do you mind?” England asked, irritated, as America led her over to a table where Canada waited for them.  

“Take a seat,” America ordered, plopping down into the chair nearest her. England did as asked, albeit much more gracefully. America squinted at her for a moment before asking, “Any particular reason you decided not to tell us you were marrying _Russia_ before sending us the invitations?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” England answered honestly. She had thought of ways time and again, but found she had run out of time before sending all of the invitations.

“Why are you even interested in him?” America asked, reaching out an arm and laying her hand on the table before England.

“I have my reasons,”

“That bullshit’s not gonna cut it this time,” America said, shaking her head.

“Yeah, do you even like him?” Canada asked, leaning her forearms on the table.

“Sometimes,” England answered vaguely. She could outlast them on sheer stubbornness.

“When was there ever a time you liked him?” America asked too loudly. “Even if that were true, that’s enough for you to marry him?”

“Apparently so,” England said coolly, raising her eyebrows.

America huffed and ran her fingers through her hair, ruining her coif some. “But why him?”

“Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean I can’t,” England responded. “I’m not saying he’s perfect, but he’s not all bad either.”

“We’re not saying he’s all bad,” Canada said, holding up her hands. “We’re just not sure he’ll be good for you.”

“Good for me? Do you mind telling me then who on Earth would be?” England asked shocked more than she’d care to admit. “I can’t even think of anyone who might be on more even ground with me without a little too much history between us.”

“Fine,” America said grouchily, throwing her hands up. “It’s too late now, anyways.”

“Then I think we’re done here,” England said, getting up from her seat. She made her way to the refreshments to get herself a drink and found Russia sitting with China and a few others at a table near the punch. She ignored him and got herself a drink, finding the flavor almost too tart.

“Care to dance?” Russia asked, tapping her shoulder. 

“Might as well,” she said, discarding her glass.

The music had changed to modern music with faster beats and more bass, and she realized she hadn’t ever seen Russia dance to anything newer than 1950s pop. He led her to the edge of the dance floor for a piece of what little space was left. He put his hands on her waist, and she settled for placing her hands on his biceps; realizing that keeping her hands up on his shoulders would not be comfortable. They kept themselves comfortably distanced from each other and in time with the music. 

“You alright?” he asked, and she looked up to find that he’d found one of his creepier smiles to wear.

“It could be worse,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the music. She felt adrift and uncomfortable, and as little as she wanted to share with Russia, he likely was the only person that could understand her right now. “I just don’t want to talk.”

He nodded and said nothing more. She grew used to his heavy hands on her waist but had trouble keeping her grip from slipping. She took to watching the couples around them. All of them danced closer together than she did with Russia. She had to remind herself that he was her husband and that maybe they were supposed to be the ones pressed together.

She glanced up at the tall man. His smile was still painted across his face, but his eyes were shifting about the rest of the room. She suddenly had a thought that maybe his smile was a nervous tick of sorts. She rubbed her hand over his arm to gain his attention. “Are you alright?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’m alright.”

“Are you uncomfortable with all these people?” she asked.

Russia tilted his head. “They’re a little close.”

“We don’t have to dance, you know,” she said, and his smile dropped a little. “I knew I shouldn’t have invited so many people.”

“It’s not your fault,” Russia immediately assured her. “This isn’t exactly just for us, and who would we have gotten away with not inviting?”

“Unfortunately, true,”

The song changed, and they adjusted to the new tempo accordingly.

“May I cut in?” France asked, appearing beside Russia.

“If you’d like,” Russia responded with his usual smile and a nod. He released England, and moved away, possibly back to his table earlier.

England kept her focus on France. She crossed her arms, and glared at him, “What do you want?”

“Only a dance,” he replied. He reached out and wrapped his arms around England’s waist, holding her much more tightly than Russia had and pulling her in towards his chest. The limited space only allowed for them to sway in time with the beat. England made it even more difficult by refusing to uncross her arms and leave space between their chests.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” France crooned. England only hunched her shoulders in response. He continued, “Everyone’s curious, you know.”

England raised an eyebrow. “What has made the great and terrible England settle?” he smirked, looking much too mischievous for England’s liking.

She scowled. She attempted to shove him away, but he wound his arms tighter. “It couldn’t be the money, Russia isn’t that wealthy. It’s certainly not for looks, or the sex,” he mused, with a look in his eye that told her he definitely wasn’t playing nice, “Is little England lonely?”

England gritted her teeth. “I hadn’t thought you were still so petty. You’re the one who wanted company. It’s not my problem if you’re too much of a coward to seek it.”

France’s teasing smile disappeared, and a hard look came across his features. “I did seek it.”

“From the wrong person entirely,” she retorted. “I don’t have anything more to say to you about that.”

“Fine,” he snapped, glaring at her. “Good luck with your marriage. I’m sure you’ll need it.”

He jerked his arms away from her and walked off the dance floor. She rolled her eyes, completely done with his dramatics on the subject. “England.”

She spun around to find Russia coming towards her. “They want to take pictures, now.”

“Fantastic,” she groused, following him back through the people and the tables to the photographers.

“It can’t be that bad,” he told her.

“It absolutely can,” she returned before the photographer began giving them orders to get into position.

The photographer had England and Russia placed in the center with his hands on her waist. All the bridesmaids and grooms flanked them in a manner England guessed was meant to lessen the height difference. It took two or three tries to get America to stop glaring at Russia to smile towards the camera. England even had some trouble smiling rather than baring her teeth. She sighed heavily when the photographer announced that he had finished, dropping her smile and her shoulders.

The rest of the group moved back towards the party. “We don’t have to go back,” Russia said, stilling her. “We danced, we took our pictures. I think we can survive missing any cake.”

“You don’t want to have the full experience?” she asked, turning to him.

“I don’t care, not particularly,” he said with a shrug. “Would it be worth staying just for some cake?”

Considering her two recent hostile engagements, she shook her head. “We’re married. We had the wedding. Let’s go.”

He nodded, his smile softening. He called for the limo driver as they headed outside, and the driver met them there. Russia pulled open the door for England, and when she was seated, he shut it. He went around the back of the limo to get in through the other side. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said with a shrug. “Anywhere.”

“Very well, Miss,” the driver said, nodding before stepping on the gas.

With hardly anyone noticing, the ‘just married’ couple disappeared from their own party.


	3. Day One

England climbed out of the taxi cab, shutting the door behind her. She moved around to the trunk to help the driver pull out her luggage. At least, he didn’t have to help her move all of her belonging into a new house. When they finished, she thanked him and handed him the fare. He nodded, returned to his cab, and drove off.

She sighed and stared warily up at the Russia’s house. She brushed back her hair and squared her shoulders before gathering her luggage and heading up to the front door. She set them down for a moment to ring the doorbell. Russia pulled open the door, revealing that he’d already changed out of the uniform he’d worn for the wedding. “Did you get everything alright?”

They had forgone the honeymoon given their work schedules, and after ditching the latter half of their wedding reception the only appropriate option seemed to be getting England’s belonging’s into Russia’s house. The limousine had dropped her off at her hotel, and she’d had to call a cab to get to Russia’s. He had offered to help and pick her up, but she had refused to let him do either.

“Yeah, everything went fine. Do you have any place to put the dress?” she asked, holding up her wedding dress inside of its garment bag.

“Yes, we can put it in my closet, if you’d like,” he said, moving to shut the door behind her.

“I guess that’s fine,” she said with a shrug.

“You can follow me,” he said, picking up her suitcase. He left her with the wedding dress and a duffle bag to carry up. She followed him up a staircase and down the hall into a rather large master bedroom. He set her suitcase down by the bed and opened a door to reveal a closet. “You can hand it anywhere it’ll fit. We can find a better spot for it later unless you want to take it back to your place.”

“Maybe, I’ll decide later,” she said, setting down her duffle bag by her suitcase.

“You going to take down your hair?” he asked as she passed him and moved into the closet.

“I will,” she said, moving down the row of suits to find a place to hang her dress. She resorted to placing it on the end of the rack, making note of how much room was left for the rest of her clothes that would need to be hung. She added, “It’s not like you haven’t undone your hair.”

He ran his hand over his hair which had been tamed and styled back from his face. Usually he just seemed to let it go whichever way the wind blew, literally. “I just have to shower,” he said with a shrug.

“You have it very easy then,” she responded as she left the closet. “Do you mind if I start unpacking?”

“Not at all, the empty bureau is for you. Do you want anything to eat? Did you have anything at the reception?”

“No, if you want to make something simple that’s fine,”

“I’ll just make dinner then,” he said as he moved towards the door to leave. “I’ll come get you when I finish.”

She nodded, and when he shut the door, she dropped down onto the bed. She sighed, relieved to be alone even if for a few moments, and began to pull out the bobby pins holding up her hair. She got her hair removed from its pile, and though it hung in awkward waves, her scalp felt so much better. She tucked the bobby pins away inside a pocket and would find a place for them later. She got up and hauled her suitcase onto the bed. She would describe most of her clothes as business to business casual, and that made for a fair number of garments that needed to be hung up in a closet. She had managed to fit them all into three garment bags and then fit those inside her suitcase. She unpacked the garment bags into the closet one right after the other. The duffle bag had all of her casual clothes, jeans and t-shirts, and she stored those away in the bureau along with whatever else didn’t need to be hung.

She had a near moment of crisis when she pulled out her bag of toiletries and had no idea where to put them. She decided to leave it where it was and put away all of her underclothing instead. She’d finished off all of her unpacking, except for her bag of toiletries that stayed on the foot of the bed, when Russia knocked on the door frame. “Food’s ready,” he announced.

“I’ll follow you then,” she responded, and he led her down to the kitchen. “You’ve got dark wood upstairs, dark hardwood floors, and then you’ve got light wood for you cabinets.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to match, and the floor’s not that dark. I had dark cabinets for a while, but I like these better.”

“Why? To make the room look bigger?” she asked, looking around and trying to estimate the size of the room. “It’s already big.”

“Not really, but I think they look a little better with the steel,” he said, gesturing to his fridge though the stove he was moving towards matched in color.

“Well, it’s much better than my kitchen that’s for sure,” England commented. “What did you make?”

 “Something simple,” he answered before elaborating, “Lamb, green beans, and mashed potatoes.”

She laughed. “That’s simple? I meant something microwaved.”

He dished her a plate anyways. “Those don’t taste as good. I’ve never liked them.”

“No one seems to except for America and I,” England said as she accepted the plate from him. “Canada only likes certain things microwaved. Where are we eating?”

“We can sit in here at the island or we can go into the dining room,” he said as he began dishing out his own plate.

“Here’s fine,” she said, moving around to take a seat towards the middle of the island counter. As soon as she tried to take her seat, she realized how high the stools and counters were. The stools were closer to her waist than hips in height. She hoisted herself up into her stool as Russia placed his plate beside hers. She nearly over balanced and toppled to the floor, but righted herself in the nick of time. “Your stools are a little too high.”

“They need to match the counters,” he explained, “I’m too tall for the standard height.”

“That is very true,”

Russia chuckled and began to eat. She begrudgingly admitted to herself that the meal looked better than anything she or her siblings could cook. She took a bite of the lamb first. After finishing her bite, she turned to Russia and said, “It’s good. I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“I don’t normally cook for other people,” he explained. “Do you normally eat what other people cook?”

“Yes, I don’t recommend you try anything my siblings or I have made,”

“Noted,”

She made it through only three quarters of her meal. “I’m not going to be able to eat the rest of this.”

“Leave it out, I’ll eat it or put it away,”

“You’ll eat that much?”

“Probably, I eat a lot,”

“If you say so,” she said, holding up her hands. “I guess I’ll just clear the silverware then. Where’s your dishwasher?”

“I haven’t emptied it yet so just leave them in the sink,”

“Alright,” she said, moving over to the sink. “Do you mind if I look around a bit.”

He took a moment to answer. “That’s fine, but don’t go into the basement. I’ve got a lot of stuff piled up down there, and I’m not sure it’s safe.”

“Alright, I can do that.”

“Are you going to give me a review afterwards?” he asked, half smiling at her in amusement. His smile seemed genuine rather than the creepy and perhaps nervous tick of a smile he’d worn at the reception.

“I’m going to say no just to make sure you’re not tempted to review my house when we move there,”

“I would have thought you’d have nothing to worry about,”

“Well, only the kitchen is bad,” she said as she headed to leave the kitchen. “It’s just very full otherwise.”

“Alright,” he said, turning back to his food.

She took her own short personal tour of Russia’s house, noting the blandly painted walls and nearly generic paintings on the first floor and most of the second. She ended on the master bedroom to double check the contrast between his room and the rest of the house. The doors that had been stained dark, the deep red bedspread over an extra-long king sized bed, the bookshelves and bureaus and bed frame that actually bothered to match the doors, and the white rug that looked like faux bear fur at the foot of the bed that maybe was a joke made it seem like this is the only place he had decided to show that he had some sort of personality. Maybe the basement had the rest of it.

Russia also happened to be there, sitting on the bed cross legged and reading a book. “Did you finish your tour?”

“Yeah, um, quick question, where should I stick my suitcase and duffle bag and toiletries?”

“I keep my suitcase in the basement. I can put yours down there. The duffle bag can probably go in the back of the closet, and you can just put your toiletries in the bathroom,” he answered, setting aside his book and getting up from the bed.

Once he’d left with her suitcase, she considered for a short moment putting her things in the master bathroom. She quickly decided against that as she did not at all feel ready to be sharing both a bedroom and a bathroom with Russia. She quickly stowed her toiletries away in the hall bath where she would not have a chance of running into her new husband.  She then went back to the master bedroom to stuff her duffle bag into the closet. After finishing, she froze. She had nothing to do and nowhere to go.

Of course, Russia came back into the room at that moment. “Did you get everything done?”

“Yeah,” she said, swallowing thickly and her mind whirring through options. “Do you mind if I shower to get the last of this stuff out of my hair?”

“That’s fine,” he said, moving back towards the bed and his book.

She grabbed pajamas and escaped out of the bedroom and down to the hall bath. She didn’t take too long of a shower and regretted not bringing a book with her to occupy herself as she avoided the bedroom. She waited up as long as she could stand, hoping it would be late enough that Russia had decided to fall asleep without her. She tip toed back upstairs and didn’t see any light coming from the room. She crept into the bedroom, and she slowly and cautiously climbed into bed.

“You finally decided to come to bed?”

England nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Russia’s voice. He sounded half asleep, but she answered regardless. “Yeah, I did,” she whispered, trying to calm herself, and pulled the sheets up to her chin.

“Goodnight,” he told her softly.

“Night,” she forced herself to return.

She made sure to keep with her back and stay as close to her edge of the bed as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't canonically true, but I've got Russia mentally at 6'2'' (which justifies the counters) and fem!England at 5'4''. So there's definitely a bit of a height difference between them.


	4. At Night

“Oh,” England said upon entering the kitchen and finding Russia there, leaning back against the island counter with his phone pressed to his ear. She took a step back. “I’m sorry.”

He held up his hand, motioning for her to wait. She clasped her hands behind her back and bit her lip as she waited for him to finish his call. When he hung up and looked towards her, she said, “I was just going to see if I could make tea.”

“I think I have an electric kettle somewhere. I’m not sure if I have tea bags though,” he said, tucking his phone into his pocket and moving away from the counter.

“You don’t have any tea?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t drink it very often so I don’t get it very often,” he explained, beginning to search through cupboards.

“We’ll have to fix that. I’ll make a list of teas to get,”

“A whole list?” he asked as he shut another cabinet door.

“Yes, I like having a little variety,”

“Well, I have earl grey,” he said, pulling out a battered box and holding it up for her to see.

“And the kettle?”

“I think it’s downstairs. Wait here,” he said, brushing past her.

She sighed and strode over to check the box of tea. She frowned, even if it did seem to be useable. She had thought he drank tea more frequently than that. Still, she waited for him to return for only a few minutes. He even rinsed out the kettle and filled it for her. “Thank you,” she told him, forcing herself to smile.  

“You’re welcome. I’ll go grocery shopping, and if you make a list I’ll get the teas for you. I’m going to make dinner soon, too.”

“Alright, do you want any tea?” she asked as she began to heat the water.

“No, I’m fine,”

“Ok then,”

She tried to ignore him as she finished making her tea, looking over her shoulder every so often only to see him focused on his phone. As soon as she’d finished, he started making dinner, and she scurried out of the kitchen. She ended up returning to the office Russia had given her to work in, mug clutched tightly in her hands. She sat there in the stiff office chair, comparing the tea and the mug to her much tastier tea back home and more easily held cup. Frustrated, she tried to will away the thoughts of homesickness she shouldn’t have after all of her experiences abroad. She hadn’t even been gone long. She took deep breaths, taking in the scent of the tea and enjoying the warmth in her hands.

Eventually, she did have to go down and share an awkward dinner with Russia. She retreated back to her office immediately after. This time she did so without the company of her tea. She attempted to entertain herself with her laptop, but she ran out of interest and energy. Keeping aware and tense drained her considerably. She just couldn’t get comfortable, and it made adjusting to the move difficult. 

She shut down her laptop and moved into Russia’s bedroom. She changed quickly into her pajamas and pulled off the jewelry she wouldn’t wear to bed. Afterwards, she went to the hall bath to finish readying for bed. She left the bathroom to find Russia entering the hall.

“You’re going to bed already?” he asked.

“I don’t have anything to do, and I’m a little tired,” she answered with a shrug.

He looked away then turned back to her. “Are you alright, being here?”

She tilted her head, debating on how much truth to tell. “It could be better, yeah.”

“Is there anything that would make it better?”

“Not really, it’s mostly a matter of sleep,” she shook her head. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you. I don’t really like sleeping in a bed with another person, and I’m definitely not used to it.”

Another part she wouldn’t tell him was that his mattress felt horrendously hard. Her mattress was soft in a comfortably worn way, and it was just too great a difference. Still, she wasn’t about to try mattress shopping with Russia.

“You must sleep lighter than me,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I haven’t minded.”

“It’s your bed, too.”

“Fair point,” he said with a nod and a weak attempt at a nice smile. “So there’s nothing I can do to help.”

“Stick to your side of the bed a little more,” she said, speaking more sharply than she intended.

He looked surprised for a second. “I don’t know how to help that. Maybe we can try different sleeping arrangements.”

“What, like switching sides of the bed?” she asked, leaning her weight back onto one foot and crossing her arms.

“No, I meant,” he paused, glancing away then looking back at her. “In relation to each other.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you suggesting sleeping like an actual couple?”

“I suppose, yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not ready for that at all. I’ll deal. Goodnight.”

“Okay,” he said, looking away again. “Goodnight.”

She walked back to the bedroom and climbed into the bed. She did her best to find a comfortable position and waited for sleep to arrive. It took some time, but she fell asleep before Russia joined her. She woke at some point in the middle of the night with his hand pressed up against her back. She pushed herself up into a half sitting position and came very close to smacking him. Instead, she picked up his hand and did her best to drop it over the general area of his chest. Russia responded by starting awake and mumbling something in Russian. “England?” he asked. “What is it?”

“Can’t sleep,” she groused, dropping her fist onto her pillow. She sighed and flopped back down, curling up and pulling the sheet over herself.

“Sorry, there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so,” she said tiredly.

“Well, try to relax,” he murmured, reaching out and placing a hand on her waist.

She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Was that meant to help?”

He didn’t respond immediately and she rolled her eyes, willing to try anything to sleep easier. She did actually remember the last time she’d slept in a strange bed with someone else, and she’d done it with their bodies pressed together. “If you’re going to do it at all, do it properly,” she said, tugging his hand forward so that his arm fell over her waist.

“Okay,” he said, shifting positions behind her.

She surprised herself by feeling better with him touching her, knowing where he was and maybe even feeling a little grounded; a little normal. He relaxed quickly, tucking his hand comfortably against her. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that she could sleep with Russia at her back, and fell asleep. She woke in the morning alone.

He didn’t mention how she’d pulled him over to her when they saw each other next at dinner. She couldn’t bring herself to mention it. Of course, she tried falling asleep before he joined her in bed again, but this time it didn’t work. “Still awake?” he asked as he climbed in beside her.

“Obviously, did you want something?”

“No, just checking,” he said, putting his arm over her waist again without even attempting to stay on his side first.

“You’re really alright with doing this?” she asked, refusing to turn around and face him.

“If it helps,” he said, shrugging. “Does it?”

“I don’t know yet,”

“Well, we can try it out then,”

She gave up and rolled over to face him, grateful for the darkness. “You’re being awfully nice about all this. Usually you just come off even more stubborn than America and try to do whatever you want.”

“I don’t want to…you call it starting off on the wrong foot, don’t you?”

“Yes,”

“I don’t want to do that. We’re going to have a very long time to spend together,”

She squinted, trying to discern anything from his facial expression. All she saw were his closed eyes. “I guess that’s sweet of you, or maybe just well planned.”

“There’s no point in doing otherwise. We’d just end up miserable, and that was not my intention,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her.

“That’s true enough, thank you, I guess, for trying to make it easier anyways.”

“You’re welcome, sleep well,” he told her, closing his eyes again.

“If only,” she said with a sigh, turning from him.

“It’ll get better,” he assured her. He began to brush his thumb gently against her, and she could feel her cheeks heat. She tucked her face against her pillow and said nothing.

She woke alone again in the morning, but she felt better. She could almost smell herself on her pillow, and she took a moment to breathe deep and smile.

It took a little over a week, but one morning she did wake to find Russia still in bed with her. She had tucked herself against him and he still had an arm over her waist. “Are you late?” she asked quietly, wondering what the protocol was now.

“No, I’m on time. I’ve been going in early.”

“Why?”

“I thought it would be easier.”

“Good morning, then,”

He chuckled. “Good morning.”

He got out of bed, and England sat up shortly after. She caught her reflection in the mirror and paused. She tried not to think about how she felt comfortable with seeing herself in Russia’s bed. She definitely didn’t think that maybe she’d eventually be comfortable seeing herself with Russia in that mirror.


	5. But Why?

"I think the honeymoon period is over," England commented to Russia as she entered the kitchen.

"We didn't go on a honeymoon," he said, frowning at her for a moment before turning back to cooking.

"No, but it's been two weeks since our wedding, and I have people texting me constantly now. People think things are going to start going wrong."

"In what way?"

"They seem to think you're going to hurt me, and I don't appreciate their concern," she said dryly, responding to another text.

"You're unhappy that people worry about you?"

"Yes, when they act like I couldn't handle a situation myself."

"Ah, like that, yes," he said with a nod. "You're not in any danger here, but if you were, I still think you would come out fine. You usually do."

"Thanks, I guess," she said with a half-smile as she pulled out napkins and silverware. "Does that include the basement though?"

"I think you could survive my basement," he said, beginning to serve dinner. "There isn't anything I should be concerned about, is there?"

"I don't think so," she said, shaking her head and placing the napkins and silverware. "America likes to pop up out of the blue, but I don't think she'd go as far as to show up here at your house."

"That's something, at least," he said, coming around and setting down their plates.

"Thanks," she said, taking her seat.

"Were you expecting this sort of trouble?" he asked as he sat beside her.

"I was hoping it wouldn't happen, but oh well. Portugal and Canada seem to be taking it best, and France hasn't actually said anything yet."

"Does that mean something?"

She shrugged. "France almost always makes sure that I know his opinion."

"Then it's disapproval."

"No, I think I just pissed him off a little the last time I spoke with him."

"I think you might have done America worse. China's told me she still complains about us whenever she's reminded about our marriage."

"That would explain the lines of exclamation points she keeps texting me."

"Is it too terrible of me to enjoy it just a little bit?"

"I might actually envy you on that. Right now, I'm just irritated by her in general."

"I thought you always got along with her."

England made a face at that. "If only, I don't think we've gotten on longer than a month or two at a time since her War of Independence. How are your sisters taking it, by the way?"

"I've been avoiding talking about it with them," he said, shaking his head slightly. "What about your siblings?"

"The same," she said, rolling her hand.

"I didn't think we'd get so much attention for getting married."

"Really?" she asked, giving him a side eyed look.

"It hasn't happened with anybody else's marriage," he pointed out, pausing in his eating.

"We aren't exactly anybody else."

"I understand that, but-"

"But what?"

"Shouldn't the other marriages have caused more of a stir?"

"No, you could see them all a mile off. Not only did we come out of left field, I'm pretty sure people don't actually want us being good together."

"More than America and China?" he asked, raising his brows at her.

She tilted her head. "Maybe not, but I definitely think people liked us better during the Great Game than the Great War."

"Nobody liked me during the Great War," he said, looking back to his food.

"That's not the point at all," she said, shaking her head. "You're not exactly easy for most nations to handle, and you know that they think you're scary. They ask me to talk to you because I'm not scared of you or as scary as you or even just grumpy enough to get away with talking to you. Do you really think they'd want to people like that together along with the slightest chance of us going against them?"

"Doesn't that still apply to America and China? Why not fear every couple then or try and stop them all together? Why is it a problem when it's us?" he asked, frowning.

"Okay, well, I didn't think about that when everybody else was getting married," she said, running her fingers over her chin.

He shrugged. "Because you didn't have anything to fear, I didn't either aside from my sister having an actual argument to marry me."

"I guess that only proves the point that it's our marriage versus marriages between nations being the problem," she said, biting her lip.

"It can't be just because we were empires though. That covers most of the northern hemisphere."

"I think it's more empire for me and Soviet Union for you."

"Fine, but it's not like we haven't changed."

"Power and titles wise maybe, but you still smile creepy and I'm a smart ass."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't smile creepy. I also think you just call people on their bullshit. I appreciate it, by the way."

"Thank you, at least someone does," she said, smiling and placing a hand against her collarbone. "So then, is it possible that people think our marriage is a problem for non-nation reasons?"

"Long standing relationship biases, you mean?"

"That and maybe people just think we've made a huge mistake. Like we'll get the first divorce or something and put all of their marriages in danger," she proposed, tapping a finger to her chin.

"That sounds wrong. I haven't heard anything yet about citizens being upset because of our marriage. We haven't put anything in jeopardy," he said stubbornly.

"It's the only thing I could think of. I mean, I understand America, but I don't see why everyone else is so wary. They're talking like they already know we're going to crash and burn and get everyone hurt after only a couple of weeks."

"We're the plane falling out of the sky?" he asked, turning to her and leaning an elbow on the table. "I didn't think we were doing that badly."

"No, but we are still only coming out of the honeymoon period where everyone takes it easy and not too seriously. We're like university roommates before the homework gets bad and everyone starts losing sleep and getting grumpy. We haven't really gotten far enough to judge yet."

"I'm not sure that's true. We're more mature than university students," he said, showing a hint of a smile. "And you've already started losing sleep."

"Are you trying to tell me I'm grumpy?"

He held up a hand. "You called yourself that first."

"Fine, I'm just saying we have a long way to go."

"And?"

"Everything everyone keeps texting is unfounded as of yet," she said, rolling her eyes and trying to hold back a smile. "I think they should let us work it out on our own."

"Well said,"

She sighed, her smile dropping. "I don't even know why they're bothering me. I didn't do this to any of them. Actually, for some of them I helped work out their problems rather than try to tell them they're doing everything wrong."

"Think of it in non-nation terms then, human ones. What does this situation remind you of?"

"Well, I'd say," she said, but paused as she tried to think of what sort of human family this would work out to be. "Oh my God."

"What is it?"

She stared at him wide eyed for a moment. "I think you're the step-father."

"What?"

"No, but think of all the movies where the kids get all upset when their parent tries to remarry. It reminds me of that."

"But isn't that because they think the parent is trying to replace their old partner? I'm not replacing anyone, I hope."

"Well, I was thinking it was more along the lines of you're going to be taking up my time now. Like, my attention isn't just for them," she said with a shrug.

"I am living with you, and I'm not that interested in having any of them moving in with us. I'm not sure that would be what's bothering them enough criticize our relationship."

"Okay, then, maybe they just don't think I can have a marriage, but that seems really petty."

"That's because they don't think you can have a marriage with me."

She pressed her lips together. "That still sounds petty and unfair. Besides, I should be able to choose whoever I want to marry without getting badgered about it."

"Maybe they just don't like thinking of you as my wife."

England clenched her jaw. "I sure as hell hope not. I've married you, but I'm not "Russia's wife" now or ever. And that is exactly what America is thinking anyways. I know it."

"How? That seems really specific," he said, watching her carefully.

"I've known her practically since she's been alive. I had to sit through the whole Cold War with her. I know what lines she drew," England explained with a slight nod. "I know she's had trouble erasing them, and if she's talking with the others, well, that would explain it."

"She wouldn't erase the line even for you?"

England closed her eyes for a moment. "She's always had a problem with me in terms of our non-nation relationship. It's like she can't understand that I'm not just her former sister, that I've never been just her former sister."

"Seeing only one bit of you and refusing to see any more," he added.

She stared at him. "Yes," she said quietly, licking her lips before continuing. "But you've never been just one thing."

He quirked an eyebrow at that. "Neither have you."


	6. Over

England had taken to a room near the back of the house that Russia had seemed to have forgotten about. He’d left barely more than a couch there, and the walls had remained a plain and spotless white. Still, it had large windows overlooking the backyard and received so much natural light. It made her ache for her garden, but the forgotten space felt more her own than the gifted office or the room she slept in.

She drank her tea in the room, sitting quietly and listening to her music. She went there when she couldn’t find a thing to say to Russia. Once or twice, she’d even brought down her laptop to work there. She also spent a good portion of time in the room wishing she had brought a hundred books with her as Russia’s collection had nothing to offer her.

“You’re spending a lot of time in that empty room,” Russia commented as he pulled the bed sheet over their shoulders one night.

“You call it the empty room?”

“It’s accurate,” he said, putting his arm over her waist.

She rolled her eyes despite smiling. “Why is it empty? If you’ve got so much stuff in the basement why didn’t you put some of it in there?”

“I don’t know, nothing fit with the windows,” he said before sighing.

“Not even shelves?”

“I think they’d have to be built in,”

“That would be nice. Maybe some plants, too,”

He responded, but in Russian. She sighed. “Good night.”

She eventually made it beyond the laundry room in the basement. Russia had been accurate in his description and one touch had been nearly enough to topple one of the piles he’d created. She couldn’t be sure what all there was in the space it was so cluttered, and absolutely everything had a coating of dust. Despite wondering what could be inside that could fill the empty room; she let it be for the moment.

The end of the honeymoon period hit soon after that. Things started to feel somewhat normal, less new and unexpected. England didn’t even consciously notice until Russia came home from work and having grown so used to her presence, began trying to talk to her in Russia. She thought he was on the phone at first before she noticed that he wasn’t even holding his phone. “Care to repeat that?” she asked in English with her clearest enunciation.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, looking a little surprised. “I just wanted to know if there was something you wanted for dinner.”

“Anything really, I don’t mind,” she said, still smiling about it as he hurriedly retreated to the kitchen.

He did it again the day after, and she raised an eyebrow while waiting for him to notice. “Sorry,” he apologized moments later. “It’s hard to spend all day speaking Russian to come home and switch to English.”

“While that’s understandable, that doesn’t mean I know Russian any more than I did before,”

“Maybe you should consider learning it,” he proposed.

“Not likely,”

“Still, you should,” he said, leaving her with a slight smile. She rolled her eyes and left the conversation there.

When he came home a third time and spoke to her in Russian, she told him, “Third time’s a charm. I’m completely fluent in Russian now.”

He looked at her flatly for a moment. “That’s so funny,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Well what were you expecting to happen?” she said and shrugged.

He tilted his head for a moment. “I suppose I should have seen it coming.”

“So what were you saying?”

“I thought you would’ve known. You have claimed you’re fluent in Russian,” he told her, smiling smugly.

“Then it must not be important,” she concluded, crossing her arms.

“Perhaps, I’ll tell you when dinner’s ready,” he said then tacked on. “In English.”

She huffed. She was supposed to be the one enjoying this.

He came home speaking Russian again, and this time she treated him to a sharp look instead of words. He sighed. “It’s better when you say something. Are you sure you don’t want to learn Russian just to make our lives easier?”

“What for? You already speak English,”

“Then I guess I’ll just wait until you change your mind,”

“What makes you think I would?”

“I have a theory about it. Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

“Don’t change the subject,”

“Why not? I want to eat,” he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

She brushed his hand off. “Fine, but I won’t change my mind.”

He made it most of the evening without using Russian. However, once they were in bed, he spoke the words that she assumed meant he wished her goodnight. “You certainly are stubborn,” she commented as she adjusted the placement of his hand. “Are you going to teach me Russian through immersion?”

He chuckled. “I’ll teach you whichever way you’d like. I just want you to learn.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to spend half of the rest of your life here with me and you should learn how to speak my language. I’ve learned yours.”

“You didn’t learn it because we married, and that’s not going to change my mind.”

“But I don’t need to change your mind. You’ll do it yourself. You can’t help wanting to know what’s going on. Your own curiosity will do it.”

“Lies,” she said, poking his arm. “It won’t.”

“Tell me when it happens. I know where we can get textbooks,”

“It’s not going to happen.”

He wished her goodnight again, and she felt sure he’d done it in Russian just to spite her. In the morning, she had planned on sleeping in as it was Saturday, but she woke earlier than expected to Russia sitting up in bed. “Do you always get up this early on the weekend?” she asked, rolling over to squint at him through her sleepy bleariness.

“Usually, do you sleep in?” he asked, climbing out of bed.

“Yes, there’s no point in getting up now,” she said, stifling a yawn and watching him stretch. She caught sight of the strip of skin he revealed when his shirt rode up.

“You don’t work out or anything?” he asked, leaning his hands on the bed.

“So that’s where you’ve been going; the gym. I don’t work out. India got me into yoga, and I do that in the evenings,” she said, sitting up seeing as she was awake at this point.

“I don’t know if there’s any place to do yoga here,” Russia said, ruffling his hair at the back of his head as he straightened up.

“It’s fine,” she said, waving him off. “I’m going to make tea while you shower.”

“You should come with me to pick more out next time,” he said as he crossed the room towards the bathroom.

She mumbled a response that could be taken as affirmation as she got out of bed and plodded towards the door. She had nearly finished with her cup of tea when Russia came down to meet her in the kitchen, already dressed for going to the gym in loose athletic wear.

“Would you like anything for breakfast?”

“You’re going to treat me to breakfast now too?” she asked.

“Only if you want it,”

“I’ll take it,” she said as she took the first sip of her tea.

“Okay,” he said, beginning to pull things out.

She decided to take her seat at the counter with her tea, provide him with a bit of company. She didn’t expect to spend her time watching his hands as he cooked. She had always had a preference for rings on fingers, but she felt a little too preoccupied with Russia’s wedding band. She absent mindedly set down her tea to rotate her engagement ring around her finger as she’d done countless times since she’d received it.

“What are you thinking about?” Russia asked, causing her to jump.

“Um, do you always wear your ring when you work out?” she asked, receiving her plate from him.

“I don’t normally wear rings, but I’ve figured it’s best not to wear it when I work out,” he said, taking his seat. “Do you normally think about rings?”

“Is it wrong to take an interest in my husband’s wedding ring?” she asked, glancing at it again before picking up her fork.

“Only if you don’t like the look of it,” he commented, holding up his hand and brushing his thumb against his ring.

“I assure you there’s nothing wrong with the look of it,” she said, smiling.

“Good,” he said, turning towards her. “And nothing’s wrong with the look of yours.”

“Thanks,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What? I’m appreciating the fact that you only wear rings I’ve given you on your left hand,” he said and put his fingers under her right wrist to raise her hand. “But the amethyst does look nice. Do you ever take all of your rings off?”

“Only to clean them,” she said, pulling her hand away. “Why does it matter? You don’t have a reason to want them off.”

“Is there a yet attached to the end of that?” he asked cheekily.

“It’s entirely too early to be having this sort of conversation,” she said. “I still need to finish breakfast.”

“We do have plenty of time to finish it later,”

She gave him a sharp look but he ignored it and continued eating his breakfast.


	7. Waking

England heard a voice, quiet, deep, and near her ear. She knew she wasn't asleep but she wasn't ready to leave her soft sheets and warm pillow. She heard the man's gentle voice again and it sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. She smiled and curled up, readjusting her sheet over her as she moved.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and woke entirely.

"England," Russia said again.

"What?" she asked too sharply, clutching the sheet.

"Are you going to get up?"

It took her a moment to remember that it was Sunday. "In a little bit," she said, pulling the sheet closer to her now that she felt cool.

"Alright," he said, climbing out of bed.

For half a minute she wanted to fall back asleep, but when Russia disappeared into the bathroom she reached for her phone. She sent off a quick text to Portugal **have you ever had a thing for a voice?**

England didn't receive a text back immediately, and she wasn't quite awake enough to calculate what hour it actually was in Portugal. Then she spent a minute trying to remember if Portugal was actually in her own land at that particular moment. She forced herself to get out of bed and make her way down to the hall bath. Somewhere between shampooing her hair and Russia convincing her to go with him to do the grocery shopping, she forgot about the text she had sent.

"So what exactly am I looking at?" England asked as they made their way down the first aisle of the grocery.

"Food?" he asked, picking another item off the shelf.

"But there's Russian," she said, gesturing down the length of the aisle. "Everywhere."

"You're in a Russian grocery store," he said, sounding like he was trying to clamp down on chuckles.

"I know, but still, it's like everything's suddenly turned to code," she said, picking up a box of something. "No wonder America likes to use it aesthetically in her movies."

"That's why it's wrong in her movies. Put that back we don't need it," he said, moving further down the aisle.

England gave the box a questioning look but put it back. She followed him silently after that. She kept an eye out for all the other customers, but nobody paid them half as much attention as she did them. She kept close to Russia as he shopped, close enough to nearly walk into his back once. Fifteen minutes was enough to tempt her to pick a place to awkwardly stand in and play a game on her phone. Instead, she continued to follow Russia around. "Teas are in the next aisle," he announced.

"Great, does that mean we're almost done?" she asked, perking up.

"Just about,"

They rounded the corner and England still found herself disappointed in the sight of boxes of tea bags even though she had reminded herself that all they would have would be tea bags on the way over. "You sure you don't know any specialty stores?" she asked as she tried to figure out exactly which teas the store even had.

"I'm sure we can find one," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"I can go myself," she said, stepping towards the shelves.

"You think you can drive someplace? That's hilarious," he said. "The fact that you're used to driving on the wrong side is enough let alone the fact that you don't have any driving experience here."

"I have excellent reflexes. I also don't drive on the wrong side of the road," she said, giving him a sharp look.

"You don't drive on the right side," he said with a laugh.

"I thought non-native speakers weren't supposed to get puns. I'm not afraid to elbow you in the ribs you know," she said as she picked up a box of tea.

"You like peppermint tea?" he asked, leaning closer to read over her shoulder.

"It's peppermint?" she asked, flipping it over. "It doesn't look like peppermint."

"It says peppermint,"

She put the box back. "Let's keep it simple then. Earl grey, green tea, and chamomile."

"Alright," he said, moving away from her to pick out the boxes.

"Thanks," she told him as he set the boxes into their basket.

"You're welcome, and it's time to check out," he said, moving towards the exit. "Dmitri should be working."

"Who?"

"A cashier," he said, smiling. "I talk with him."

"Okay," she said, following him warily. She held in a sigh as Russia picked up his step, seemingly having found the person he had been looking for. The cashier Russia went to was a middle aged man of nearly the same height with dark hair and more breadth. They greeted each other loudly and heartily, and England tried to situate herself so as not be drawn into the conversation. The other man, Dmitri, noticed her and England could tell he asked about her even if she couldn't understand his Russian. Russia responded to his question, and Dmitri practically cheered before reaching over the counter to wrap Russia into a hug. He even ruffled his hair as he pulled away, and England felt her stomach drop when the cashier turned to her.

"Hello," he said in a thick accent. "I am Dmitri."

"Hi," England said weakly in response.

"I told him we got married. He wants to meet you and congratulate you," Russia said, placing a hand on her back and nudging her towards the cashier.

"Okay," she said and brushed back her bangs. She moved forward as much as she dared to. "Hi," she repeated, moving to hold out her hand. "I'm Carolyn."

"Carolyn," he mimicked before grinning broadly and reverting to Russian. He ignored her hand to place his hands on top of her shoulders. He then leaned over the counter to give her three kisses, alternating cheeks. She froze after the first kiss and clenched her hands. He picked up speaking jovially again after he'd finished kissing her and pressed his palm to her cheek before releasing her entirely.

He didn't stop speaking and Russia seamlessly rejoined the conversation. England moved to the far side of Russia and impatiently waited for him to finish. "What was that?" she hissed as they left the store, clutching the elbow of his sleeve.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, turning towards her.

"I expected a handshake, not," she took a deep breath and held up her hands. "Kissing."

"He was happy for us," he said, still smiling. "He complimented you, wished you luck, and congratulated you."

"None of that requires kissing. Why would he even?" she asked and gestured to him. "You don't do that."

"I have," he countered, shaking his head slightly. "I've just never done it to you, and he was just trying to congratulate you."

"That's fine, but he didn't need to kiss me to do that," she said, flustered.

Russia had shifted to a confused expression. "Are you embarrassed or something? He really didn't mean to offend you."

"I know that but I still didn't like it,"

"Fine, the next person we announce we're married to I'll make sure to tell them you don't like kisses," he said, holding out his arms.

"Thank you," she said, taking a deep breath and releasing it. "No hugs either."

He gave her a look like he was concerned about her. "Do you ever touch anyone?"

"Really?" she asked. "You can't remember that I slept with your arm around me just last night?"

"Yes, but that's," he cut himself off. "You don't do anything to congratulate people?"

"I tell them congratulations,"

He looked at her blankly for a moment. "Alright, let's just go home."

"Finally," she said, relaxing her shoulders.

They made it home without any more trouble. England felt her phone buzz with a text as they were putting away the last of the groceries. She finished up then pulled out her phone, heading away from the kitchen and Russia. The text from Portugal read **what did Russia do?**

England couldn't remember what she'd said in the first place and had to reread the reminder that she really had been attracted to Russia's voice that morning. **Woke me up by talking** she explained before sending another text. **This was a lot more fun when you had to guess who I was talking about**.

Portugal's text reached England as she took a seat on the couch in the empty room. She had texted, **you get over it do you have a language preference yet?**

 **As in do I like to hear him speak Russian or English more?** England sent back.

**yeah so which one?**

**English because I understand it.**

**really? that's not any fun.**

**Im sorry my married life isn't entertaining enough for you** England said, rolling her eyes and smiling. She could easily imagine Portugal smirking back at her.

**Im just surprised that you havent learned russian yet.**

**Why would I? Russia seems to think Ill learn it too.**

**hes right.**

England gaped at the text she had received. **What do you mean hes right? Youre supposed to side with me**.

 **no such obligation when youre wrong youre totally going to be frustrated by not knowing long before you move back home**.

She sighed and brushed back her bangs. She considered not answering but eventually texted back. **Well if thats true then at least Ill have listening to him to look forward to**.

 **honestly Id give in just for that if I was in your place but you would learn his language to seduce him with it**.

 **I would not and havent you already given in with your husband? Besides its still attractive in English its just more understandable**.

 **let me know how learning Russian goes**.

England didn't respond, rolling her eyes as she tucked her phone away. She figured Portugal was probably laughing enough about her situation already. She could smell food cooking and headed for the kitchen. "You're actually cooking for lunch?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's not going to take that long," he said with a shrug.

"Usually I just throw something simple together or microwave something for lunch,"

"That doesn't taste any good though,"

"This is too fancy for lunch," she said, taking her usual seat anyways.

"You don't have to have it,"

"No, I'll take it,"

He chuckled and continued cooking. She pulled out her phone again to check her email. She didn't find anything new that was important. "So what are our plans for June?" she asked as she scrolled past an email from America.

"You mean the conference with everyone? Isn't it just the usual except that we share a room this time,"

"Yes and no, we actually have to see America in person again," she said, closing her eyes for a moment in attempt to block any thoughts about it.

"We can avoid her," he suggested.

"Because that's worked really well in the past. She does talk to me outside of meetings, and it's like the opposite poles of magnets with you except instead of attraction its antagonism," she said.

"Isn't it the same for you and France?"

England thought about it for a second. "Let's try not to put any labels on it."

"If you say so,"

"I do, but if it's necessary we can probably hole up in our hotel room to avoid her,"

"And do what?"

"I don't know," she said, smiling. "We could watch crap telly."

"You think that would work?"

"It would, but we might not need to," she shrugged. "It's still supposed to be at least semi-professional outside of the meeting."

"Sure it is. You've gone to these meetings before, right?"

"It's possible and we've been getting better about them," she said, trying to bite down on a grin. "It's not like you're offering up any other options."

England had grown used to the timing of their conversations, and Russia's pauses didn't last this long. She looked up, and his eyes were on her. She watched as he licked his lips and pulled in a breath. "I think we'll be fine," he said, pulling his gaze away.

"Okay," she said lightly, not mentioning at all that she'd caught him staring at her lips. Or that she'd done it back. She didn't have any experience with having mutual attraction while that someone made lunch. That sort of thing usually kept itself to dinner dates and intentionally romantic settings.

"Nothing else to add?" he asked as he served their lunch.

"Not at the moment," she said, trying to end the conversation as she'd likely only watch his lips if he spoke.

"Alright, enjoy the lunch then,"

She held back a curse as she definitely looked at his lips again as he finished his sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little behind on this. I'm working on it.


	8. Dress Up

“England?”

“Yes?” she answered slowly, looking up from her phone.

“We’ve been invited to a charity event with my boss in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh,” she said, setting her phone down on the counter. She took a moment to adjust to the knowledge that she had been invited due to her marriage. “What sort of event?”

“It’s a gala. The schedule isn’t set entirely yet, but we might be meeting with a few people beforehand as well. Then we’ll ride with my boss to the event.”

“Black tie then?” she asked.

He turned off the stove before answering. “Yes.”

“That’s what I forgot.”

“What is?” he asked as he started on the last round of preparations for their meal.

“When I packed to come here, I forgot to bring any of my formal dresses. None of the shoes I brought are particularly nice either.”

“We can get you some.”

“We’ll have to do it this weekend then in order to have it tailored in time because of my height.”

“I think we can do that.”

“Anything else you’d like to spring on me?” she asked, tucking her phone away as he served their meal.

“No, but I do know a boutique we can go to for your dress. They’ll be able to tailor it as well.”

“That’s fortunate. You might have to translate everything for me.”

“I can do that, but it would be easier in the long term if you learned Russian.”

“How about you tell me what sort of charity this event is for?” she asked, taking a bite of her meal. She had almost become used to having a well cooked meal for every dinner.

“It’s the usual sort of thing that makes you look good in politics,” he started. He spent the rest of dinner explaining the event and giving her whatever details she asked for. It came out sounding more like a chance for politicians to make a few maneuvers rather than a chance to give to and promote charity. It didn’t surprise her in the slightest.

“It’s going to be a long evening,” he warned her.

“I’ve been to these types of things before,” she shrugged. “There’s going to be dinner and discussions and dancing and alcohol.”

“Yes, but we might be invited to an after party.”

“With who?”

He shrugged. “Usually an oligarch. It’s an easy way to keep contact with them. They’re also usually drunk enough to say what they’re thinking by then.”

“How much do they drink?”

He titled his head. “A lot.”

“Does a bear make them?”

He chuckled. “Not anymore. You should be happy about that.”

“I am. I don’t plan on drinking that much.”

He raised his brows. “You are a lightweight.”

“I am not,” she retorted.

“Yes, you are. You’ll have to be careful or else you might drink more than you realize.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been to balls here before.”

“You haven’t been to the after parties.”

“It’ll be fine,” she promised, getting down from her seat. She brought her plate over to the sink. “So what’s the plan for the boutique? We’ll just go Saturday?”

“Yes,” he said, getting up.

“Alright, hopefully it will go well. I don’t like spending forever picking out clothes.”

He nodded as he moved past her to rinse his plate. “Do you want to do something tonight?”

“What?” she asked, looking towards the clock.

“I mean together, like watch a movie?” he asked, tucking his hands into his pockets. “We eat together, but we don’t really do anything else.”

“I guess, yeah, we can watch a movie,” she said, rocking on her feet. “What movies do you have?”

“In English?” he asked. “Probably not much.”

“We’ll just have to look then,”

“Follow me,” he said, leaving the kitchen for the sitting room. He opened up a cabinet with movies lining its shelves. “Some of these have English dubbing. What genre are you interested in?”

She shrugged. “Just pick something light and happy.”

“Light and happy?” he laughed. “What sort of movie is that?”

“One I want to watch. Do you have one or not?”

“I’ll try and find something like that,” he promised as he crouched down to look at the cases lower down.

“I’ll be on the couch,” she said, taking a seat at the end.

After a few more moments, he pulled out a movie. “Let’s try this,” he said, putting in the movie.

“Okay,” she said as he took a seat in the middle of the couch. He changed the settings to English and started the movie. They made it five minutes.

“That is terrible dubbing,” England said, trying not to laugh at the face Russia was making. “Just switch it back and put on English subtitles.”

“Yeah, let’s just do that,” he said, quickly making the adjustment.

England didn’t find the movie very intriguing, but it wasn’t bad. She found Russia at least as interesting as the movie. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he slowly relaxed. He stretched his legs out first, keeping them crossed at the ankle. Then, he laid his arms across the back of the couch. She couldn’t help but be aware of how close his hand was to her shoulder. She didn’t relax at all for the duration of the movie.

“How did you like the movie?” he asked as the credits began to roll.

She shrugged. “It was alright.”

“It’s not one of the better ones.” He said, getting up and stretching.

“That’s okay.”

“Are you ready for bed?”

“Definitely,” she said, getting up and heading for the stairs. Russia followed behind her after turning off the entertainment system. She readied for bed as she usually did in the hall bath. She found Russia in bed once she made it into the master bedroom. She crawled into bed and as soon as she was settled, Russia wrapped his arm around her waist. She couldn’t help but relax into his warmth.

“You’re a lot softer at night,” Russia muttered. 

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said with a sigh.

“If you say so,” she said, adjusting her pillow.

* * *

 

“Are you alright?” Russia asked, not entirely concealing his smile as he parked the car.

England looked over to him with wide eyes. “No, why the hell would I be?”

“It was just a drive into town,” he said, shifting in his seat to face her.

“What part of that entitles just a drive into town?” she asked. “The part where you nearly got us killed?”

“We wouldn’t have died.”

“Only because we’re not human,”

“There was plenty of space,”

She glared at him, but he shrugged it off. “We’re here and we’re on time,” he said, pulling her hand loose from its white knuckle grip on the armrest.

“Do not drive like that on the way back,” she warned, pointing a shaking finger at him.

“It’s how everyone drives. There’s no other way back,”

“Ugh,” she pulled her hand from his. “Let’s go then.”

They both got out of the car, but England had to stretch her fingers after the death grip she’d had them in for at least the last fifteen minutes of the ride. She followed Russia onto the sidewalk, trying to keep up with his longer strides. “Could you slow down?” she asked, jogging to catch up to him. “Or is there some rush I wasn’t aware of?”

“No, I was walking normally.”

“That might be true, but you’re outpacing me.”

“I’ll walk slower.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking a deep breath then releasing it in a short sigh.

“We’ve only got the block to go to reach the boutique,” he said, pointing in the direction they were headed.

“That’s good. Lead the way,” she said, gesturing for him to continue. He nodded and kept his promise. He walked slowly enough for her to keep up until they reached the boutique.

“Where did you say you heard of this place?” she asked when faced with the rather unimpressive front of the store.

“Several politicians said they got their dresses here,” he answered as he pulled open the door. The interior looked as understated as the front, but meticulously clean and very well lit. A woman immediately came from behind the counter to greet them in Russian. Russia responded as England hoped to glean what she could from body language. 

The woman turned and motioned for them to follower her. She lead them through a door into a larger spaced lined with dresses organized by color and style. The woman turned back to them and spoke directly to England.

“I’m sorry. I don’t speak Russian,” England said, offering her a polite smile.

“It’s not a problem,” the woman said, immediately switching to accented English. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

“Not in particular, but I prefer richer colors and styles that better suit my height,” she explained, intending to add details when she found a preference for them.

“Alright, I can bring you a few dresses to try out to start with,” she said, nodding once before moving to choose dresses.

“No theme, right?” England asked Russia.

“No,”

“Would you like to match?”

“We don’t have to,”

“That doesn’t really help narrow choices. I wore green to the last event so I’ll wear something else this time.”

“The last event? I remember you wearing white,” he said, giving her a look.

She rolled her eyes. “Aside from our wedding.”

He said nothing more as the woman returned with three dresses and to lead England to a dressing room. “Just call if you need anything,” the woman told her as she handed over the dresses.

England first tried on a dress a shade too red to be orange. It had ruffles down the side, and they rubbed against her arm and looked off in the mirror. She took the dress off without even leaving the dressing room. She pulled on a navy blue dress and left the dressing room with it on. It had a simple halter top, empire waist, and a-line skirt that would make it easy to shorten.

“What do you think of this?” she asked Russia while lifting the hem. “Once it’s shortened.”

He looked the dress over. He shrugged. “It’s alright.”

“It’s a little plain,” she said in agreement. She turned back to the dressing room. The lady brought her another dress once England had gotten out of the blue one. By the time England had gotten herself into a pink dress, she heard another group come in; chattering away in Russian. She went to show Russia the pink dress and received the same nonplussed reaction. She set it aside in the dressing room to consider later anyways.

When the woman helping them came back with two more dresses for England to try on, England asked, “Could you find a dress that’s creative with the style or just a little unusual? Not like wild patterns, but something with a neat detail?” 

“Like this?” the woman asked, turning around an aqua dress to reveal lacing in the back.

“Yes, something similar to that,” she said, nodding. She caught Russia giving her a wary glance, and she tried to remember if she’d worn a daring dress around him before. She went through three of four more dresses, feeling like each one was getting closer to what she wanted. Russia seemed a little more enthusiastic about those dresses, but in a manner than came across as rushed.

“Try this one,” the woman said, handing England another dress. England didn’t consider the dress’ royal purple color an early summer color and questioned why she had been brought a dress that looked so austere. It seemed Victorian inspired with a neckline to match a turtleneck and a nearly straight torso section. The lack of sleeves didn’t seem like much of a twist on the style. She turned the dress around to find the zipper and discovered the reason it had been given to her.

She couldn’t help but smirk as she pulled on the floor length dress. She found that the soft material the dress was made of also had a trick to it. It hung, or maybe formed itself, in a manner that imitated the appearance of wearing a corset. “I think this is the one,” she told Russia as she left the dressing room.

“Really? I thought you said you didn’t want a plain dress,” he said, eyeing her dress suspiciously.

“It’s not really plain at all,” she said, stepping up to stand in front of the three way mirror. She watched the shock appear on his face in the mirror at the sight of her back. An oval had been cut from the back of the dress from the bottom of her neck down to the small of her back, and it still kept its form.

“Is this what you want?” the woman asked. England nodded enthusiastically.

“We’ll have to get you a shawl next,” Russia said, turning for a moment to look at the half of the other group that had come in that had stopped to stare at England.

“And cover this up?” England asked. She shifted to get a better look at her back and pulled her loose hair over her shoulder to clear the view.

“Why else?”

“I don’t know, maybe you’ve stopped wearing jackets with your suits,” she shrugged then turned to face him. “I’m not going to wear a shawl. You never had a problem before.”

He muttered something in Russian, but she shrugged it off. The woman stepped up to stand with England in front of the mirror. She went through all the area of the dresses that needed tailoring with England before pinning them into place. She did her work efficiently and delivered the price of the dress. England looked to Russia, and he only shrugged.

She went back into the dressing room to gingerly take off the purple dress and pull her street clothes back on. She found the woman waiting for her when she finished. “Follow me, and I can ring you up,” the Russian woman said.

The couple followed her back to the front of the store, and England paid for her dress. “Now it’s time to get back into that death trap,” England said as she returned to the street with Russia.

“You don’t want to stay for lunch?” he asked, gesturing to restaurants farther down the street.

 “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it,” she said, brushing back her hair. “Won’t they be really expensive?”

“Probably,” he answered with a shrug. He began moving towards his car. “We can head back then.”

“Alright,” she said cautiously. Russia usually stuck stubbornly with something he wanted to do. She made a reminder for herself to check if he might be falling ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Russia said something along the lines of ‘before I was stealing glances like everyone else.’


	9. Dancing

“They’ll likely speak English around you. I’ll tell them you’re just starting to learn the language even if you’re technically not.”

England turned around to shoot him a sharp glance. He shrugged and held his book up again to continue reading. She turned away. “And it’s alright to use mister and misses with them?”

“Yes, but if they ask you to call them otherwise do so.”

“What do you call them?” she asked, listlessly sifting through the earrings she had brought and spread out across the bureau. “What do they call you?”

“I use the president’s given name, and he does likewise for me. It’s the same with his wife.”

“And with me? What will they use?” she asked, picking up and examining a golden chandelier earring.

“Probably Braginskaya, but if they ask you to be less formal probably your first name.”

“My boss always left it at Miss Kirkland. I don’t actually recall taking your surname when we were married.”

“Then you can correct them,” he said, and England heard the bed shift. “Have you chosen yet?”

“No, I didn’t bring enough,” she said, gathering up all the golden earrings she had laid out in an attempt to better decide. “I can’t remember the color of the dress well enough either.”

“Then you can decide after we pick it up tomorrow,” he said, picking up a pair of earrings before she could collect them. “Are you still against wearing a shawl?”

She held her hand out for them. “I’m not going to cover up the best part of that dress.”

“Fine,” he said, depositing the earrings into her hand. She rolled them over in her palm, considering them again. They had emeralds to match her engagement ring, but they were too gaudy for the dress, and she didn’t want to look like a character out of America’s comic books. She tucked away the earrings and ran a hand through her hair. “There’s nothing else I should worry about when talking with your boss and his wife?”

He looked at her consideringly for a moment. “I don’t know how it is between you and your boss, but mine will likely be more…familiar with you.”

“I could guess from the name thing,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “It must be a Russian thing.”

He half-smiled. “We like being friendly. They’ll try to be inclusive because you’re my wife.”

“It’s not like we’re unfriendly,” England said, frowning.

“It doesn’t always seem that way,” he said carefully. He ran his hand through his hair. “You may not like it, but if you don’t try to reciprocate they might think you’re rude.”

Not too long ago, England would have snapped that she didn’t care. She held her tongue. “It’ll be fine.”

“Of course,”

His agreement wasn’t enough to ease the tension between England’s shoulders. She sighed heavily and left to get ready for bed.

* * *

 

The night of the charity gala, England began preparing early. She had to put on makeup and do up her hair in a space she still hadn’t become completely comfortable with, and she didn’t want to risk having to take extra time and therefore cause them to be late.

She started with her hair, brushing it out to ensure it didn’t have any tangles. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail then braided it. She wrapped the braid around to create a bun, carefully pinning the ends. She took a deep breath before starting on her makeup. After foundation, she created a smoky look with a deep purple eye shadow, using a gold eye shadow for highlight. She applied mascara, and a lipstick to make her lips just a touch redder. She studied her work in the mirror then nodded.

She pulled off the last of the clothes she needed to in order to put on her dress. She felt a little awkward pulling on such a beautiful dress in a bathroom, but she couldn’t do it in the bedroom. It slid on smoothly over her skin. She fastened it closed easily. She ran her hands down the sides of her torso, watching herself in the mirror. She nodded.

She grabbed her clothes and left the bathroom to put on jewelry and shoes. She made sure to knock, opening the door once she heard Russia's response. Russia stood in front of the mirror tying his tie. She put her clothes in the laundry basket before joining him in front of the bureau mirror. She picked out a pair of simple gold dangling earrings and a matching bracelet and ring for her right hand.

“I got something for you,” Russia said, moving away from the bureau.

“What? When?” she asked, turning to watch as he grabbed something from his bedside table.

“This past week,” he answered simply, returning to her with a black box in hand. He held it out to her. She took it and gingerly pulled the top off.

“Thank you,” she told him before really looking at what he’d given her. She pulled out a golden hair pin with a beautifully detailed butterfly attached to the end. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

She set aside the box and turned back to the mirror. She carefully pinned the butterfly into the side of her bun. “It’s a good addition.”

He nodded in agreement. “We’ll have to leave soon.”

“I just need to grab my purse,” she told him.

“Alright, I’ll meet you downstairs,” he said, grabbing a lightweight scarf that nearly matched the purple of her dress as he left the room.

She swiftly stuffed everything she needed into her little bag then followed him downstairs. “I’m all set,” she told him as she finished coming down the stairs.

“Let’s go.”

He led the way out to the car. He put on the radio as they drove, and England didn’t really care that she couldn’t understand the words. After they arrived, a valet took the keys from Russia to park his car. England didn’t recognize the area and took Russia’s arm when he offered it to her.  

She startled slightly when Russia’s boss came out of the building they were headed towards with his body guards flanking him. He spoke in Russian as soon as he saw them. Russia pulled away from her to shake his boss’ hand and respond to whatever he had said. England could only make out ‘Ivan’ and the president’s first name; Georgy. The president laughed loudly, clapping a hand down on Russia’s shoulder.

Russia then turned to greet his boss’ wife. They leaned forward to press kisses to each other’s cheeks. From Russia’s tone, England guessed that he complimented her. Russia then took a step back and placed a hand on her back, nudging her slightly forward.

“Pardon us for the Russian,” Russia’s boss told her.

“It’s fine, Mr. Dragomirov,”

“No need to be so formal anymore. Please, call me Georgy,” he said, stepping forward to kiss her cheek as Russia had done with his wife. England barely managed to respond likewise before he stepped away.

“Then call me Carolyn.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Carolyn,” his wife said, taking her hands. She kissed both of England’s cheeks, and this time England did a better job of reciprocating. “I’m Alyosha.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” England responded, wondering if it would be alright to drop her hands.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling brightly.

“Our limo should be here at any minute,” Georgy said, glancing at his wristwatch.

“No one else is joining us?” Russia asked.

“Not this time,” he answered shaking his head.

England held in a sigh of relief. Alyosha linked arms with her and began guiding her back towards the street. “Have you had much chance to explore Moscow?”

“No, unfortunately not,” she answered, smiling weakly.

“We should try to do so together sometime, the four of us. A ballet, perhaps,” she suggested, smiling. “I know your husband’s fond of them.”

“I hadn’t considered it,” England said, glancing behind them to see Russia and the president coming to stand with them. “It does sound like a good way to spend an evening.”

“Are you very fond of ballet?” Alyosha asked, drawing her attention back.

“No, I prefer plays and the occasional musical.”

“Then maybe that’s something better left for you and Ivan in London.”

A line of limousines pulled up in front of them, one stopping directly before them. A body guard opened the door, and Alyosha gestured for England to enter first. She gathered her dress and picked her way into the vehicle. She didn’t remark when Alyosha didn’t sit beside her, but stiffened when Georgy did. 

“How have you found Moscow?” he asked as the door was shut.

“I haven’t been downtown since moving,” she admitted.

“I promised her we would take them to see a ballet,” Alyosha said.

“A wonderful idea,” he said, “But I think it will have to wait until at least next month.”

“There’s no rush,” England politely assuaged him. “I have seen a Russian ballet before.”

She glanced over to Russia, sitting almost comfortably in the limo with his feet tucked in close. He caught her glance and half shrugged. He used ballet somewhat often as a way to impress visiting nations.

“Yes, but they get better every time they perform,” Georgy boasted before laughing. “Honestly, I can’t believe Ivan hasn’t already taken you.”

“Neither of us has much time,” she said, covering for both of them. She hadn’t even entertained the thought of an evening out with Russia, just the two of them.

“We’re quite the same,” Alyosha said, nodding. “But at least tonight we might get the chance to dance.”

Russia exchanged a glance with his boss. “I can cover for you at some point.”

Georgy laughed. “That’s kind of you, but some things I will have to cover myself.”

“Spend some time with your wife,” Alyosha said, smiling and laying a hand on England’s shoulder. “Test out the dance floor for us.”

England shot a glance at Russia. He shrugged. “I suppose we can do that.”

The conversation moved on, and England struggled to remain pleasant in the uncomfortably friendly atmosphere. The president and his wife exited the limousine first, presenting smiling faces to the cameras that waited. She waited with Russia a moment before following them out, too experienced to expect that the cameras would gloss over them.

Russia offered her his arm as they followed the presidential couple into the event. “Do you honestly intend to dance?” she asked him, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, why not?”

“I know what these functions are like,” she said. “There has to be someone you’re supposed to be cajoling rather than dancing with me.”

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asked without a trace of annoyance and sounding like he’d asked an honest question.

“Not particularly,” she ground out. “But I’m not exactly going to be much help.”

“There’s no one I need to talk with more than you,” he said.

She couldn’t help her cheeks flushing, and she studied his face for any hint of a lie. They walked into the main room of the gathering, finding it already filled with people. For once, a live orchestra played in a corner of the room and couples were already dancing to the music.

“We met at an event like this, didn’t we?” Russia asked as he led the way to an empty space.

“I’m fairly certain that we did not meet at a charity event,” she said, letting him guide her to stand before him.

“It was a ball though,” he said, taking her hand and placing his free hand on her upper back. She felt a jolt as his hand touched her bare skin. “Remember?”

Really, all England remembered of that moment was thinking how strange it was that such a ridiculous nose could make a face appear so handsome. Not much had changed about that in the following centuries. “I remember it well enough.”

He moved on time with the beat, placing them in sync with the dancers around them. The rhythm settled her. “I don’t quite remember what it was for, but I remember you,” he said.

“You asked me to dance.”

“You told me no.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling too much. “You caught me at a bad time.”

“I did figure that much out.”

Silence fell between them, allowing them to focus on the dancing. Russia guided her into a spin, and when she came back in step with him, she didn’t mind if they stood a little closer. The orchestra started into another piece, and they easily shifted to match the new tempo. England relaxed. She found herself smiling back at Russia, and they successfully tried a few more complicated moves.

“I think this has turned out better than our last dance,” England said, not thinking too much on the scrutinized dance she and Russia had shared at their wedding reception.

“Certainly.”

England hissed as she felt a sudden pain in her wrist. She stopped and pulled her left hand back from Russia’s shoulder. The couple that had been dancing behind her knocked into her, jarring her wrist.

“What is it?” Russia asked, guiding her away from the other dancing couples.

“Something happened to my wrist,” she said, running her fingers gingerly over the wrist. “I think it’s broken.”

When they reached an empty area by the wall, Russia pulled out his phone. “Water main break,” he answered, showing her the phone’s screen.

She couldn’t read anything on the page, and she couldn’t recognize the area from the picture that showed mostly dirty water. She swallowed thickly. “How bad is it?”

He pulled his phone back and scanned through the article. “Bad enough, several dead and the area’s being evacuated.”

“Where?”

“Not a major city, and it's in the east.”

“Not worst case then.”

“We should get you to a doctor. I don’t think it’ll heal quickly.”

“No, it won’t,” she said grimly, cradling her wrist to her chest. “Let’s go.”

He nodded, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they left.


	10. Cast

England checked out the window for Russia. She found him easily, still pacing in front of the row of windows of the waiting room. He had left to call his boss some time ago, and England clenched her jaw at the thought of having ruined a plan or two. Russia didn’t look upset, but he continued to pace as he talked to his boss.

She glanced around the room warily, noticing several other people sitting with her for a variety of other reasons. She sighed, slumping but refusing to lean back against the chair. A broken wrist wouldn’t kill her, and she had to have at least another hour of waiting. She stared at the wall, avoiding the gazes of the people staring at her dress.

Sometime later, she looked out the window for Russia and didn’t see him. She frowned and made to stand up.

“Carolyn,”

“What?” she asked, turning her head and relieved to find Russia coming towards her.

“There’s a coffee shop down the road, do you want anything?”

“Tea would be nice.”

“What kind?”

“Black, I think we’ll have to be here for a while longer.”

“Alright, I’ll be back in a little bit,” he said, turning to leave.

“Also,” she said, and he turned back. “Could you see if they have any lemon pastries? Doesn’t really matter what kind.”

He nodded. “I’ll be back.”

She took a deep breath in after he left and released it quickly. She returned to a slump and silently waited. He returned with two covered cups and a brown paper bag. He passed her one of the cups then sat beside her.

“Thanks,” she told him quietly.

“Do you want blueberry lemon bread or just lemon bread?” he asked, holding out the bag towards her.

“Either,” she answered with a listless shrug. “I want the tea first.”

He nodded and set the bag on the empty chair beside them. She took a sip of the tea, enjoying the warmth if not the flavor. She moved to run her hand through her hair and winced as she moved her left wrist.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she gritted out.

“I don’t think it’ll be too much longer.”

“That would be great if it were true.”

They had both finished their drinks by the time they were seen by a nurse and led out of the waiting room. The nurse spoke gently in Russian, offering England a tablet to fill out the e-paperwork. “I can’t,” England responded weakly.

Russia responded to the nurse in English, likely telling her that England couldn’t even read the paperwork. The nurses handed over the tablet to him. Russia went through the paperwork, putting down the information that England provided. When he finished, the nurse took back the tablet, speaking again.

“She says a doctor will be in soon,” Russia told her. 

“Finally,”

The doctor turned out to be a woman in what seemed to be her late 40s. She explained through Russia that she’d have to remove her rings first and examine her wrist. The doctor managed to get the rings off without England doing more than hissing in pain. Her conclusion was that the base of one of the bones in her hand and the top of a bone in her forearm had broken.

“Just fix it,” England ordered her, glancing at her bag where her phone was.

Once the doctor had ensured that the bones were all aligned and would heal correctly, she called in a nurse to help put the cast on her arm.

“Thank God it’s faster than it used to be,” England muttered, as the doctor and nurse team efficiently cast her arm.

Russia chuckled, and she shot him a half-hearted glare.

Before leaving, the nurse gave England, again through Russia, instructions for caring for her broken wrist and cast. “I’ll have to pick up my car tomorrow,” Russia said as they made their way back out of the hospital.

“Sorry,” England said, rolling her head to try and get some tension out of her neck. She felt half dead on her feet.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you had any control over it,”

“I’ll have to call a cab. It shouldn’t be too long,”

“It’s going to be an expensive ride.”

“We don’t really have a choice,” he said with a shrugging, making the call.

When the cab arrived, they took the backseat, and Russia told the driver his address. England refused to lean back against the seat again. The cab driver babbled as he drove them home, and England let the noise wash over her.

She stepped out of the car after they arrived, feeling a little too relieved to be at Russia’s house. She waited for Russia to pay the cab driver before making her way up to the front door. He unlocked the door, gesturing for her to enter before him. She wearily climbed the stairs, holding tightly to the bannister with her right hand. She grabbed her pajamas out of the bedroom before retreating to the bathroom to change. It took her several tries to get her dress off, and she struggled to get her pajama top on with the cast. She washed her face haphazardly to get the most of her makeup off. She couldn’t get the dress back onto its hanger one-handedly and was forced to just awkwardly carry them both back to the bedroom.

“Russia, could you hang up my dress for me?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, yawning as he took the dress from her.

As he hung it up, she moved to the bureau mirror to take off her jewelry and undo her hair. The hairpin and her hair itself gave her no trouble, but she struggled to force the bracelet and ring off without using her left hand.

“England.”

“What?” she snapped; tired and frustrated.

“Let me,” he said, holding his hands out for her.

She huffed, but held out her hand for him to pluck her jewelry off. He set her ring and bracelet down beside the hairpin. “Ready for bed?” he asked.

She nodded. She crawled into bed, curling up and carefully cradling her wrist. If Russia held her closer than he normally did, she wouldn’t say she noticed.

She woke with Russia’s arm still around her. She felt awake but without any energy to get up. Russia moved eventually, pulling his arm away from her carefully and probably thinking she still slept. She said nothing as he went about his business and did her best to ignore any sounds he made in the bathroom. She rolled onto her back, giving up on falling back asleep. She turned her head when she heard the bathroom door open.

“You are awake,” he said, and hurriedly pulled on his shirt.

“Yeah,” she responded weakly, looking back up towards the ceiling.

“I can make breakfast,” he suggested.

“That’d be nice.”

“Okay,” he said, looking at her for a moment before leaving to head downstairs.

England slowly crawled her way out of bed. It took forever to get ready with one hand, but she made it in one piece and little pain. She went downstairs to find that Russia had already finished making and serving breakfast. She felt awkward eating with her right hand, but Russia didn’t comment.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m alright. I’m going to have to call my boss,” she said, setting aside her fork. “How did your boss take our departure?”

“Fairly well,” he answered with a shrug. “He would have preferred us to stay, but he understood you needed care.”

“I would’ve have thought he would’ve been angry.”

“He was, for a little while anyways.”

“Well, we did leave without really telling anybody.”

“It’s fine.”

After they finished eating, Russia took their plates and cleaned them. England checked her phone to see if it was an appropriate hour to be calling her boss. She tucked the phone away again when she saw that it wasn’t. She wasted a few hours online, too unfocused to do one thing for very long and occasionally checking the news. She called as soon as she thought the time reasonable.

“England, I assume you’ve heard,” her boss said as he answered.

“Yes, my wrist is broken because of the water main break.”

She heard his voice muffled, probably because he’d drawn the phone away to curse. “I had hoped it wouldn’t be that bad,” he responded.

“What’s the plan then?”

“We have only a rough outline. So far, the area has been evacuated with the usual emergency response procedures. From there, it’s not so certain.”

“What’s the problem?”

“There are several. It’s a low lying area, and we’ll have to drain it because the water has nowhere to run off to. There’s also concern for the sewer pipelines in the area following suit. We’ll also need to decide which method to use to repair and fix the pipes. It’s an infrastructure nightmare. There’s no good way to do it with any sort of immediacy.”

England sighed. “Alright so this is a longer term issue than I expected it to be. Do I need to come home?”

“Not as of yet, the emergency response was quick enough that no one is too angry as of yet. However, if a method of repair isn’t proposed and implemented soon there may be a few issues.”

“So what? It’s between what they’ve been doing for London and what they’ve been doing for Manchester?”

“Yes, with a few adjustments. None of the breaks in either of those cities have been quite this bad. The engineers are also always trying to improve the longevity of the repairs.”

“What about the budgeting for it?”

“Can’t say exactly until we decide which method, but it will be expensive. Not quite natural disaster level, but the damage to the roads alone is rather extensive.”

“And you’ll tell me if I need to come back?”

“Yes, but don’t expect word too soon. I’ll have a better idea once we get past the press release.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Take care,” he said, hanging up immediately.

England sat her phone down and sighed, running her hand through her hair. She checked the news again before searching for Russia. She found him in the sitting room, and he turned to her as soon as she entered.

“What did your boss say?” he asked.

“They don’t totally have a plan yet, so it’s going to be a while. He doesn’t know if I need to go back home yet,” she answered, unable to look at him.

“That’s not so good,” he paused. “I would understand if you had to go back.”

She took a breath and forced herself to look at him. “Would you come with me?”

He looked surprised. “I don’t know. Do you want me to? I think I’d have to ask my boss first.”

“I meant, it just seemed that with our marriage agreement we were supposed to stay together.”

“Oh,” he said, running a hand over his neck. “I’m not sure of that, but I could check.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said with a shrug. “But I won’t, like, stop you or anything.”

“Let’s just see if you have to go back at all first,” he responded slowly.

“Yeah, that definitely comes first.”

She stood there silently and awkward, having to look away again.

“Do you want something for lunch?” he asked, getting up from the couch.

“Sure,” she responded, letting routine take over.

In the morning, she woke and found she’d received a message from her boss. He told her she didn’t need to come back home yet. She felt a rush of relief, hoping this would be a good sign for the rest of the healing process.


	11. Not Your Boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little behind here, but I'm working on it.

England picked at her cast, trying to dig and scratch the skin underneath it, then checked the time. She’d spent too much time not working; not that it was easy or efficient to type with one hand in a cast. She had new emails coming in all the time, and she needed to stay on top of the news coming from home. She’d only been successful in keeping up with the updates her boss sent her. Parliament had started discussions on the long term solution for the water main, and not much else.

She stood up from her desk and went downstairs to get a cup of tea, reminding herself that at least she wasn’t in pain. She chewed on her lower lip as the water boiled, mulling over Russia’s reaction to her injury. He’d come home early on Monday and Tuesday, and she had to see if he would come home early again this time. She sipped her tea slowly, staying in the kitchen until she finished it. She sat at her computer for hardly any time at all before returning to the kitchen to make herself lunch.

Russia came home early, and she had already told herself she could stop working if he did.

“How are you doing?” he asked as she met him on his way to their bedroom.

“Alright,” she said with a shrug. “It’s not easy to get work done with one hand.”

“Nothing else serious has happened?” he asked as he took of his suit jacket.

She shrugged. “Parliament has to duke it out on what the response is going to be as this is going to set the precedent for future breaks.”

“What would you like for dinner?” he asked after he finished hanging up his suit jacket.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“Not if you’re hungry.”

“I’ve kind of been snacking all day so I’m not really hungry.”

He nodded slowly. She moved to cross her arms before remembering how awkward it was with her cast on. She sighed and let her arms hang by her side. “I want a drink,” she said, turning and heading out of the bedroom.

“As in alcohol?” he asked, following her out. “It’s barely evening.”

“I’ve held off all day, and it hasn’t really been a good day. Do you want one?” she asked, looking back at him.

He looked ready to say no, but answered, “Yes.”

“What have you got?”

“Mostly vodka, I can get the drinks, just tell me what you want.”

“Got any tonic water to go with it?”

“Vodka and tonic it is. I think I’ve got lemons but not any limes.”

“Doesn’t matter, skip them,” she said, waving him off.

“Alright, just wait in the kitchen,” he said, parting from her when they reached the first floor.

She took her usual seat at the counter, and he returned with two tumblers, a bottle of vodka, and a bottle of tonic water. He set them all down on the counter then passed a tumbler and the two bottles towards her. “Help yourself.”

She poured herself equal amounts of vodka and tonic, filling the glass only half way. She couldn’t help herself from watching Russia pour his own drink, noting that he put in more vodka to tonic and filled his glass more than she had.

“So I guess you don’t like waiting for decisions if you’ve resorted to drinking after only a few days,” he commented as he took his first drink.

“It’s the waiting and everything else,” she said, swallowing down less than a mouthful.

“Everything else?”

“When’s the last time you’ve had a broken hand or wrist or whatever?”

He shrugged. “Fifty years? Longer maybe.”

“Long time,” she commented, taking another drink. “Well, however obnoxious you remember it being, it’s always worse when you’re hand’s broken.”

“I can imagine, especially as you have to type in order to do any work.”

“It’s like some sort of horribly irony. I have a broken wrist because something went wrong and now I can’t help much to fix it because I have a broken wrist.”

He smiled. “That is highly unfortunate.”

“There’s not really an upside to any of it.”

“It could be worse. Both of your wrists could be broken,” he said, tilting his head and taking another drink.

She couldn’t help a small snort of laughter. “And then I’d have two towns to deal with and even more squabbling from Parliament.”

“So you see; it’s not so bad.”

“Yes, thank you so much for that,” she said then drank again.

“So does this mean I should start serving alcohol with dinner?”

“Maybe, are you going to match it up with the meals and everything?”

“No, I’m just going to serve vodka.”

She laughed. “At least get some limes or something to go with it.”

“We already have the tonic water, isn’t that enough?”

“No, we should get some gin to have some variety, or rum.”

“You can buy that yourself if you want it.”

“But I don’t speak Russian.”

“Oh how will you ever get by?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you have a bilingual husband who could teach you.”

“Maybe I’ll learn if he buys me rum.”

“You make an interesting counter offer,” he said before downing his glass.

She finished hers off to match. He gestured for her to pour first. She filled her glass exactly as she did before. Russia filled his with more tonic water this time. She drank a fair amount of it before setting it down on the counter. “So how is your work going, seeing as you’ve come home early three nights in a row?”

He shrugged before taking a drink. “It’s been alright.”

“Well enough to come home early, for you anyways, or has your boss just told you to take care of me?”

“I’m not-,” he started then shook his head. “No, he hasn’t said that.”

“Oh, just like he didn’t tell you to charm me at the ball?”

“He didn’t.”

“Sure because there wasn’t any sort of pressuring going on in that limo,” she scoffed. “I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were. Why are you so annoyed about?” he asked, frowning. “My boss has only wished us well and given me some advice.”

“He’s given you advice?”

“Yes, what is wrong with that?” Russia asked, setting down his glass. “I told you we were more friendly than you are with your boss.”

“There’s a reason for that. Nevermind,” she said, downing her glass. “It’s just a complication and the past few days have been bad enough on their own.”

She moved to grab the bottle of vodka, but Russia pulled it away from her. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Tell me what the problem is.”

“I don’t like the idea of your boss giving you advice on our relationship, alright?”

“If you think I’m telling him anything about you or us that’s too private, I assure you I’m not,” he said, looking her right in the eyes.

“That’s not it,” she said, shaking her head. She bit her lip, mulling over how much truth to tell. “I have spent a long time trying to keep my boss away from anything personal even though it seems like all we are is political. That you can just marry me then talk to your boss about it…”

She trailed off and made a flippant gesture.

“You can’t just tell me to stop talking with my boss. We’re friends,” Russia stressed.

“And he’s still your boss,” England said, glaring at him. “I’m telling you it makes me uncomfortable.”

He held up his hands. “There’s not much I can do about it. Have you not asked anyone for advice? Is there someone you would prefer me to talk to?”

“Literally anyone but your boss. I’m not-,” she stopped herself, not sure what she would have said if she’d continued. “I just want you to know that I don’t very much like it. You can decide what you want to do about. I don’t want to talk about it. Just give me back the vodka.”

He stared at her for a moment before pushing the vodka back towards her. “Go easy on it. I’m going to start dinner.”

“Fine,” she said lightly and started pouring herself a glass.

He watched her for a moment before getting up to start cooking. She spent more time looking into her drink than watching him cook. She barely mumbled a thanks when he set a full plate before her. He placed a hand on her back, and she jumped at the contact.

“I’m not trying to make this difficult for you,” he said then moved to sit down next to her.

She looked over at him and sighed. “I think this is going to be difficult no matter what.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he said, looking her over.

“I’m annoyed and a little drunk, but otherwise I’m fine. I’m going to bed after this.”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. “I’ll join you later then.”

She finished her dinner quickly and retreated to the bedroom as soon as she could. She still didn’t fall asleep before Russia came to join her. He wrapped an arm around her like normal, and she didn’t stop herself from adjusting to settle more comfortably against him. He leaned forward to whisper to her, but she couldn’t understand the Russian. She didn’t have the energy to ask him for a translation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get chapter 12 up soon, and hopefully 13 soon after that.


	12. Travel

England continued to type poorly and get very little actual work done just as Russia continued to come home early. Once or twice, he placed his hand on her back exactly as he had done the night they drank together, but England glared at him and he moved away.

“You know we’ll have to get ready for the World Meeting soon,” Russia reminded her.

England groaned and ran the hand that wasn’t in a cast over her face. “I bet it’ll be even more fun than usual.”

“I’m not looking forward to having America in the same building as me.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Maybe I’ll just go back home to deal with the water main break.”

“You can’t just leave me to America,” he said, looking at her wide eyed.

“You did perfectly fine during the Cold War,” she said, waving that away.

“No, I didn’t. That’s why I’m the Russian Federation.”

“Well, it’s not like I won that War of Independence.”

“So we’ll go together then,” Russia said, giving her an earnest look.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh.

“Good,” he said, smiling.

“We’ll be sharing a hotel room for the first time.”

“Will that be a problem?”

She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be. We just have to watch out for America and maybe France.”

“Why France?”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it,” she answered, turning away from Russia. “He’s only upset with me.”

“Isn’t that how it usually is?”

“Yeah, we always find something new to argue over.”

“Can I ask what it is this time?”

“My brother, actually.”

“Which one?” he asked, frowning.

“Scotland, of course, it’s an Auld Alliance thing.”

“Yes, the one that’s only second to yours and Portugal’s,” he said, nodding. “I know it was started over you, but what are you arguing about it now for? I thought you’d gotten past that.”

England grimaced and held up her hand to make a so-so gesture. Russia rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep out from between you and France.”

“And I’ll make sure to not get between you and America,” she returned. “There, we’re settled.”

He chuckled. “It’ll be a long week.”

When the day came for them to begin packing, England still had her cast on and Parliament had had another week to talk the situation over while her boss placated the public. She’d gotten better at typing one-handedly on her phone, and she’d learned to yell at them over emails sent from her phone.

“It’s going to be warm with clear skies for the World Meeting,” England told Russia as he pulled out his suitcase.

“I’ll bring a raincoat anyways,” he said, setting his suitcase beside hers on the bed.

England carefully pulled out enough business wear to last her a week and did her best to jimmy the hangers in properly with one hand. She sighed. “Russia.”

“What?” he asked, settling another suit into his own garment bag.

“Could you help me with this?” she asked, gesturing to the hangers she’d been trying to hook into the back properly.

“Yeah,” he said, moving over to her packing area. He easily clipped them all in then zipped up the bag for her.

“Thanks,” she said, tugging on the garment bag so she could stuff it into her suitcase.

“You’re welcome,” he said, returning to his own packing.

She continued packing as well, checking to make sure he was occupied when she packed her undergarments. “That should be everything, except toiletries which I’ll finish off in the morning,” she announced.

“Good, and at least the flight is later than last year,” he said, as he pulled his suitcase off the bed and put it at the foot.

“I flew in the afternoon last year. When did you leave?” she asked, leaning against the bed.

“There wasn’t a direct flight, and so the first left at six in the morning,” he said then gestured to her suitcase.

She nodded and moved aside. He picked it up and set it beside his own. “That sounds awful,” she commented.

“Yes, I just didn’t sleep the night before and slept on the flight.”

“I could never,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s been centuries, and I’ve never fallen asleep on a plane.”

“Then what do you do?” he asked.

“Watch the movies, of course, or listen to music,” she answered with a shrug.

“I would have thought you would read books.”

“Sometimes, not as much as I used to.”

“So I was partially right.”

“I guess.”

“What do you want for dinner, seeing as this is our last night before we have to rely on take out?”

“Oh and hotel food for breakfast,” she pointed out. “I don’t know. I don’t normally have fancy home cooked meals before leaving. I mean, I pretty much never had good home cooked meals anyways.”

“I can come up with something,” he said, leading the way out of the room. “I’m still not sure how it is that you still can’t cook after all this time.”

“I don’t know. It just sort of never works out for me. I could be cursed. My siblings can’t cook either.”

“How though? Has no one ever taught you?”

“They have. It doesn’t really help.”

He gave her a look. She shook her head. “Don’t be getting any ideas. I might ruin one of your pans or something and then where would you be?”

“I don’t think it could go that wrong.”

She laughed. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? You should see the sorry state of the linoleum in my kitchen. You’re going to hate it.”

“What did you do to the linoleum?” he asked as they entered the kitchen, and he began pulling out ingredients to start cooking.

“Oh plenty of things,” she said, taking her usual seat. “It’s downright hazardous when I’m cooking.”

“Will I be able to cook in your kitchen when we move into your house?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s functional, just not nearly as nice as this. I haven’t upgraded it in far too long.”

“I guess that will have to be something to consider later then. We have to survive this World Meeting first,” he said, shooting her a smile.

“What a week this is going to be,” she said, shaking her head.

* * *

 

England scanned the departure board again after going through security for their flight then double checked her boarding pass. “Our flight’s gate changed.”

“Has it?” Russia asked, looking at the board as well.

“Only by a couple of digits.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t change again,” he said, turning away from the board.

England followed him to their gate, and they took two of the available seats.

“We’ve got plenty of time before boarding,” he said, turning to her.

“Yeah,” she said, pulling out her headphones. She turned on her playlist for travelling and pulled up one of the books she had on her phone.

Russia shifted beside her to lean on the armrest away from her. She cast him a side glance then went back to her book.

When it came closer to the time for boarding, she checked their flight online. Their gate hadn’t changed again. She pulled out her earbuds not long after that and made sure she had everything gathered to board.

She and Russia got up from their seats a little early to make sure they were one of the first to board.

“It’s going to be a long flight,” he commented.

“They should have something to watch,” she said with a shrug.

The line moved forward, and England handed over her boarding pass. The attendant handed it back and waved for her to continue. Russia followed close behind her.

“Are you going to put your bag in the overhead bin?” he asked.

“With how my wrist is, I don’t think I could,” she said, glaring down at her cast.

“I could put it up for you.”

“Oh then thank you,” she said, giving him a smile.

“It’s no trouble.”

Once they were on the plane, he took her bag from her and put both of their bags into the overhead bin. He sat down beside her, letting his feet stretch out as far as they could.

“It’s good to fly business class, isn’t it?” she asked.

He smiled at her. “Can’t fly any other way. I’m too tall.”

She giggled, and watched as the other passengers file into the plane. The flight attendant kept giving Russia dirty looks as if she expected him to start sticking his feet out into the aisle way. He ignored her.

England ended up watching half a movie before switching to listening to her own music and not even bothering to read. She pulled off her headphones when she heard an announcement being given. She caught the tail end of the announcement that they would be landing soon. She sighed and turned to Russia, seeing that he was watching one of the movies they offered. He had his arm on the armrest, and she realized that she had had her arm pressed up against his for practically the whole flight. She pulled her arm away and centered herself in her seat. He noticed, glancing at her before returning to the movie.

Getting off the plane took less time than getting on, but the wait for a taxi more than made up for it. “I can get the bags if you check us in,” Russia said when they arrived at the hotel.

“I’ve got it,” she said, heading into the lobby.

Russia made it inside with their bags before she got the key cards to their room. “Here you are,” she said, handing the second to him as they waited for the elevator.

“Thanks,” he said, tucking it into his pocket.

They entered the elevator without any company or having spotted any other nations; one small mercy for the night. She couldn’t help sighing when she got the door unlocked and entered the hotel room.

“That doesn’t look like a king size bed,” she said as she set down her carryon to take her suitcase from Russia and set it up as she pleased.

“It’s not,” he agreed then turned to her. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know, is it?” she asked, trying not to blush. “You’re the one who actually has to worry about the size.”

He gave her a small smile. “It’ll be fine.”

“Alright then,” she said, taking the foot stool to set her suitcase on top of.

“At least the room is large enough otherwise.”

They got take out for dinner, going out to a restaurant near their hotel and bringing it back up to their room. “I thought the university students thing had been a metaphor,” she said as she ate at the only desk in the room. “But I guess it’s not so much anymore.”

Russia shrugged from his spot on the bed. “We’re still not in a dorm.”

“It’s still cheap take out and eating in a bedroom.”

“I get the feeling having a university class tomorrow instead of meetings would be more fun and more productive.”

She laughed. “I know that’s probably true, but you’re not technically supposed to say that.”

“And? It’s just between us.”

She considered him for a moment, and he shot her a look back. “I guess,” she said, setting aside her meal. “We should see if there’s anything fun we can watch.”

“Did you finish that or are you just done?” he asked, gesturing to her container.

“Done, why? Do you want what’s left?” she asked, hold it out to him.

“Sure,” he said. “And you can pick out something to watch.”

“Okay,” she said, balancing the container on the bed before climbing up to sit beside him. She grabbed the remote and pulled her feet up under her. She flipped through the channels before stopping on one that seemed decent.

“I have no idea what this is,” Russia admitted after a few minutes of watching.

“Neither do I,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve got better shows than America.”

He chuckled, and she set aside the remote. He threw out his container then switched to eating the rest of her meal. Sitting there together on the bed, she glanced over at his arm, remembering that he hadn’t been bothered with her arm pressed up against his earlier. Or perhaps he just hadn’t noticed, and she focused on the TV show.

“We should get to bed,” she said some time later, getting up to change into pajamas.

“Probably,” he said, glancing at his watch.

She changed and got ready for bed quickly and turned off the TV when he readied himself for bed. She climbed into the queen sized bed, curling up and determined to stick to her side. He chuckled when he came to join her.

“What?” she asked, rolling half over to face him.

“You don’t have to be all the way over there.”

“I just wanted to leave you room.”

“That’s why it’s funny,” he said, leaning over and pressing his forehead to hers. She went cross-eyed trying to keep looking at him.

“How so?”

He lay down beside her, close enough to give her a squeeze once he had his arm around her.

“Fine,” she said, laughing as he did. “I get it. I’ll make sure to hog the bed next time.”

“But then I could just switch sides,” he said, chuckling.

“Don’t push it,” she told him.

He didn’t, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most exciting chapter ever but the next one will be more exciting.


End file.
